The Spartans of Gamma Company
by TheAmateur
Summary: The story of five of the other 315 Spartan-IIIs of Gamma Company who left Onyx before the events of Halo: Ghosts of Onyx. Reviews are always welcome; an artist builds on compliments and criticisms alike. 100% canonical--concurrent with Halo 3 campaign.
1. Chapter 1: Introductions

Chapter One: Introductions

**0100 Hours, June 8, 2547 (Military Calendar) \  
Onyx, Zeta Doradus System**

**Camp Currahee**

**Spartan-III Alex-G004**

I remember the sounds of nights on Onyx; those seemingly brief periods of time when the training camp was silent and the sounds of the forest penetrated the perimeter. Almost every day after the evening at the firing range and the frequent jog in the dark, Gamma Company would turn in to the barracks for the night. I would lie in my bed for several minutes, just soaking in nature's voice until exhaustion claimed me.

That was the case tonight as well. I dreamt of my first day here in Camp Currahee, when I was just a small five-year-old boy hungry for revenge against the aliens who had slaughtered his family and burned his world.

My world.

That had been six years ago and my family had been dead for seven. After six years of hard, brutal training I had all but forgotten my last name and even my family's faces—All I could remember was just feelings, emotions, and a great sense of loss and anger.

I had been singled out at a refugee camp by a few men in uniforms. I later learned that they had been operatives of the Office of Naval Intelligence, or ONI for short, and they offered me a chance for revenge. I took it without hesitation; I guess that was what they were hoping for.

I had been spirited away along with several other children a year older than me onto a small starship and ended up in the Camp Currahee parade field here on Onyx. There had been 410 of us then, until they packed us onto pelicans and had us jump out into the wilderness from high altitudes. That was our Selection. I remember nearly flaking at the door when it was my turn to jump, but I received a helpful shove from behind. The pusher's name was Samantha and we had been closest friends ever since; we were even placed in the same team together.

Sam and I had even kissed once two years ago when I was nine during a battle-simulation exercise in the forest. We had been sent ahead by our team leader to scout a possible route across the Twin Forks River. We found one, but had to wait until another team, which was blocking the way, moved off. I remember feeling bored out of my mind. I sighed and rolled over onto my side to face Sam. She did the same. We talked for a few minutes, but eventually ran out of topics. Then it happened. She leaned in close and I was lying there thinking '_What the hell?'_ at first until I caught on. I Leaned in to meet her and we—

**BREEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!**

I frowned, sensing something wrong. There hadn't been any alarm when that had happened—what was going on?!

I stirred and opened my eyes groggily to realize that the blaring klaxon hadn't been a dream at all; it was happening right now. I swore quietly to myself, knowing what was coming next.

The barracks' door slammed open, the lights snapped on, and a blurry form strode inside, shouting at the top of his lungs. A deafening banging noise accompanied him. My eyes refocused and I made out Gunnery Sergeant Anderson wielding a metal trash can, which he was pounding mercilessly with a large serving spoon from the mess hall.

"Naptime's over maggots! Fall in and quadruple-time it to the parade field!" the Gunny roared as he made his way down the sleeping room's center aisle.

I scrambled out of my top bunk, avoiding landing on Robin-G227 who bunked below me, and slipped into my combat fatigues.

"Jesus Christ, it's one in the morning, what the hell are—" one of the spartans down the row began to grumble, but Anderson's gaze of steel snapped over to the owner of the voice and he quick-paced his way over, drawing his power-baton and delivering a painful shock to the unfortunate boy before he could finish his complaint.

The Gunny turned his gaze to the rest of us. "Anyone _else_ in 'Q' Barracks have a problem with Lieutenant Commander Ambrose's little midnight playtime?"

"Negative, sir!" all the spartans of the three teams bunking in 'Q' Barracks chorused quickly.

Anderson cocked an eyebrow, regarding us with mock interest. "Are you all sure? It's alright if you feel the need to complain; my baton has enough juice for every one of you, so don't be afraid to speak up! Anyone else besides Randall in the mood for a little slice-and-dice of authority?!"

"Sir, NEGATIVE, sir!" we all replied, making sure we were much louder this time.

Anderson nodded, satisfied. "See you boys on the parade field," he said as he strode off, leaving 'Q' Barracks to terrorize another.

"Rapier, on me!" Tyrone-G083 barked. Ty was my team leader. He was of African descent with dark skin and a cross between round and almond-shaped eyes. He was a head taller than the rest of us and looked as ripped as a pro-wrestler. I personally thought he would make even Elites think twice before taking him on. I knew him as a tough, but calm and restrained individual. He wasn't afraid to put himself out there, but he also never lost his temper unless provoked. In battle he was level-headed and fearless, some of the qualities of every top-notch soldier.

I fell in behind him along with Sam, Robin, and Emma-G132. Together we made up Team Rapier, one of the 66 five-spartan teams in Gamma Company.

Ty led us into the other half of 'Q' Barracks; the armory. My teammates and I slipped into our body-armor plates and helmets. Our suits were similar to ODST armor, the only real difference being size. ODST suits were designed for adults; ours were for us 11-year-olds. I sealed my helmet and polarized the faceplate.

We grabbed our weapons, loaded with Formula-2016 tranquilizer rounds, which were harmless rounds that behaved exactly like live rounds, only they knocked the target out instead of killing it. They weren't made very much and were almost exclusive only to this training camp and several others. I grabbed my customized SRS99C-S2 AM Sniper Rifle and loaded it, taking extra rounds with me in my belt. Sam, Robin, and Em all grabbed BR55 Battle-Rifles while Ty took hold of his prized M90 shotgun and an MA5B Assault Rifle for backup

As Teams Falchion and Cutlass armed up, Ty lead us outside onto the dirt path that led to the paved road which ran throughout the camp and ultimately ended at the parade field. We took a short-cut and hopped the walls around the operations compound, cut through, and climbed out at the other side, leaving only the row of Instructors' quarters between us and the parade field. We quickly traversed those and strode onto the parade field.

We were the first team to arrive, followed closely by Team Saber, Team Claymore, Team Bayonet, and several others. We strode up to the trio of officers standing at the head of the field: Lt. Commander Ambrose, our CO; Senior Chief Petty Officer Mendez, our head-trainer; and Gunnery Sergeant Anderson. How Anderson managed to get here so fast I'll never know.

Mendez checked his watch and raised an eyebrow. "Four minutes flat. Team Rapier, you are stationed in 'Q' Barracks, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Ty answered smoothly.

"'Q' Barracks is more of a distance from here than most of the other barracks, yet you got here first," Lt. Commander Ambrose noted with a faint trace of a smile playing at his lips, "Whatever probably-illegal short-cut you've been using, keep at it. In battle, mobilization rate is _everything_."

"All due respect sir, but while we _were_ ordered to get to the parade field, _how_ we got there was never dictated," Sam said wryly, "So technically, we disobeyed no orders."

Ambrose actually gave a half-smile and leaned in so only my team could hear him speak. "You are the first to think outside the box like that. None of us force you to use the road to get here, and in battle your commanding officer won't force you to take the paved road all the way to the battle that can also be accessed by crossing a rugged field. Not every order will be given to the letter in combat; it will give you the objective, but how you _complete_ that objective is entirely up to you," the Lt. Commander then straightened up and nodded to us, prompting us to return to our spot among the rest of the Company.

Ambrose cleared his throat and I snapped to attention with the rest of the company. "Tonight—or I suppose I should say this morning—we will be having a Class Twelve training op."

A mix of reactions rose from the company; some groans, some sighs, but most were excited breaths. Class Twelve training operations here were war-games that pitted me and my fellow spartans against a unit of marines. This would be my tenth class-12.

"You will be engaging the 103rd Marine Battalion _again,_" Ambrose continued, "Your objective is to take the flag in the center of their Battalion HQ and return it here, to the parade field before sunrise. Standard, simple, and direct. You will be facing a whole battalion of marines who may be tired of losing to us yet again, so _how_ you secure the flag will _not_ be standard, simple, and direct. Any questions? No? Good, then report to the pelicans."


	2. Chapter 2: Capture the Flag

Chapter Two: Capture the Flag

**0230 Hours, June 8, 2547 (Military Calendar) \  
Onyx, Zeta Doradus System**

**10 km South-West of Camp Currahee**

**Spartan-III Alex-G004**

I always enjoyed pelican-rides over the wilderness; they provided a breath-taking vista that not many would usually see in their lifetime. The Company was dropped in a large clearing eight kilometers north of the marine battalion's HQ and we had been steadily advancing for an hour and fifteen minutes. Now, we were only a klick away from our objective. I had worked with several other sharpshooters from other teams and we had already taken out several marine patrols, allowing the company to advance.

I lay still in the bushes as several teams advanced ahead of me. I adjusted the sights on my sniper rifle and scanned the area, making sure those spartans wouldn't receive any surprises. I opened a COM channel with my team. "Team Leader, what's your status?" I whispered.

"Moving up and securing the next leg, Eagle-Eye," Tyrone referred to me by my call sign, "You're clear to advance, over."

I lowered my sniper rifle, rose into a crouch, and began moving forward. "Eagle-Eye, moving up," I said over the universal COM channel, the channel everyone in the company could hear.

"Acknowledged, Eagle-Eye, advance to position thirty-six," I recognized the voice of Ash-G099, the leader of Team Saber and the spartan who usually took de facto command of the company during operations such as this.

I followed Ash's order and moved past most of the advancing teams into sniper position thirty-six; an outcropping of the ridge that overlooked the southern approach into the 103rd's Battalion HQ that had enough underbrush and vegetation for me to become invisible but still have one of the best views I could ever ask for, short of an ocean view in an apartment on Emerald Cove. I went prone and fixed my sights down into the 103rd's northern perimeters.

The only thing between the hills and the 103rd's HQ compound was a half-klick stretch of land filled with short trees and several huge hedges, but no marines or patrols. That made me frown; the 103rd usually always had a patchwork of men waiting in that stretch of land in every previous op we had done against them.

The rest of my team regrouped behind me and we waited for the rest of the company to form a line on the ridge. It took three minutes to fully organize for the strike. Gamma Company got ready. Breathing slowed and grips tightened on rifles.

Sounds from the HQ compound ahead began to drift over to the hills. Marines could be heard moving into position, shouting orders and calling for units to move this way and that.

I noticed something abnormal through my scope as I swept through the no-man's land in between us and the 103rd. Something wasn't quite right about one of the hedges. It almost looked as if it had rustled, but there was no wind. Frowning, I switched my scope to thermal. I gasped at what I saw and had time only to swear briefly before Ash gave the order to advance. I stopped my team, but the rest of the company began to move down the hills and into the no-man's land.

I got onto the universal COM channel and urgently said, "Omega-3-3," our emergency abort code. When Omega-3-3 was ordered, the entire company was to immediately abort the mission and retreat, and that's what we did right now.

The 'hedges' rumbled to life, took aim at the retreating spartans, and opened fire. Heavy 90 millimeter tungsten shells exploded everywhere, causing bright flashes and sending dirt and debris flying every which way.

"Holy shit, those are scorpions! No one said they had tanks!" a spartan shouted over the COM.

"Why in hell they're using them now, I have no idea," Ash agreed over the channel, "alright—all teams retreat to rally point bravo, we need to re-think our strategy. Eagle-Eye, you still there?"

I responded quickly, saying, "Yeah, I haven't moved and neither has my team."

"Alright, Alex—––Ty, you hearing me?"

"Loud 'n clear, Ash," Tyrone answered.

"Ty, I'm designating Team Rapier our ace in the hole. You guys will be the ones to get the flag back. I'm thinking we should use Alex as a Sinon and gather enough intel from inside the compound to be able to mount an assault," Ash suggested.

"Given the circumstances I'll allow it, but _only_ if Alex volunteers. He could be physically harmed doing this," Ty said calmly, but firmly.

My mind was made up in a nanosecond, although I knew that being the Sinon had lots of risks. "I'll do it," I said.

"It's done, then, Alex, we'll see you soon," Ash cut the connection.

The scorpion tanks shed their natural disguise and, reinforced with at least a company of marines, began to advance into the hills.

I crawled over to Ty and hissed, "Hey, Ty! I'll trade you my rifle for the MA5B; I don't want my rifle getting damaged."

"Aight," Ty unslung his assault rifle and passed it to me while I gave him my prized sniper rifle.

"G'luck mate," Robin called over.

Sam squeezed my hand for a few moments before letting go. "Don't kill yourself out there."

"They're closing in; you guys better get going," I warned. I nodded to them one last time as they disappeared into the forest.

As a tank and contingent of marines drew near I activated my helmet camera and lay in wait until they were all around me. I seized the moment and rose up out of the underbrush, leaping at the nearest marine.

The unfortunate man had time only to let out a startled yelp before I clubbed him down with a well-aimed punch. I brought my MA5B to bear and opened fire at the marines as they swiftly recovered, knocking five of them out with a wide spray of tranq-rounds.

Then one of them returned fire, hitting me in the back. I felt an incredible pain explode around the points of impact. I was confused for a moment; no tranquilizer-rounds could produce that much of a punch. _They were using __live__ rounds, too!_ I realized as I sank to the ground. There was no internal injury at least; my armor had deflected the rounds. I had that much to be thankful for.

I lay there groaning and attempting to crawl away until one of them planted a boot on my back right where I had just been shot. Agony exploded through my torso, making me scream. I'm sure my fellow spartans could hear me and I'm glad I wasn't one of them. If I had heard a comrade in pain like that and been helpless to stop it I would have felt like ten tons of shit. But then again, the alternative was _being_ the one in pain which was just as bad. _God, I hate catch-22s_ I thought to myself.

The marine on top of me bent down and whispered, "Kick our asses _now_, kid. Even ONI's freaks can't stand up to scorpions; gotta love 'em," the marine straightened up and called out to one of his peers, "Henderson, go tell the Major about our little catch here. The rest of you help me get him into the holding block back at HQ. Move it!"

I was picked up and crudely slung over a large man's shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried all the way into the HQ compound, which was now completely illuminated with plasma-powered lights. Marines and other personnel who caught sight of me being held like that whooped and cheered. I heard a lot of "The tables have turned" and "How the mighty have fallen". I didn't mind that; this was their first time capturing a spartan and that was only because we had never found it necessary before.

I looked at the weak-points in the perimeters and the possible routes to the command post and ultimately saw the flag in all its glory planted next to the CP. I was careful to observe as much of the compound as I could for as long as possible to work out the layout before I was taken into a small building lined with reverse-engineered Covenant force cages: energy fields combined with anti-grav generators that would keep the prisoner hovering in the air while inhibiting nervous messages to the rest of the body, rendering the prisoner immobile from the neck down.

A marine sergeant wearing a full helmet entered after my bearer. His stripes told me he was a staff sergeant. "The Major put me in charge of…welcoming our young friend," the staff sergeant said, "Put him into one of the force cages and get that armor off, then bring him to the questioning room."

"Yes, sir," the marine carrying me replied. He tossed me into one of the cages. I immediately felt the effects; my body tingled for a second and I felt light-headed, but only for a second. I could only move my head. I hated that feeling of _knowing_ your body was all there, but there was _nothing_ you could do to move it, no matter how hard you tried.

My man the marine unsealed and removed my helmet and peered into my face. I'd like to say that I looked rather normal; I had shortish light-brown hair, a thin face with higher cheek-bones, gradually upturned nose, a spray of freckles across my nose and cheeks, and, as Sam put it, _shockingly blue eyes_. I guess that's why the marine looked so surprised; because the face of one of ONIs 'freaks' was no different than a normal 11-year-old's.

"You guys gonna hurt me?" I asked in my shaky innocent voice as the marine removed my chest, arm, and leg plates, leaving me in just my t-shirt and camo-print pants.

"You and your friends have whooped us a dozen times and caused more injuries to this outfit than I can count; don't expect a walk through a rose garden," the marine chuckled as he grabbed hold of me and pulled me out of the cage. I went limp on his shoulder as my nerves returned to life and wonderful sensation spread throughout my body. The marine sighed with satisfaction as he hefted me and started to walk. "That's better, kid. You're not as heavy with all that armor."

I was taken past the force-cages into a square room at the end of the corridor with nothing but a table and two chairs on either side of it. The marine carrying me set me down in one of the chairs and held me there until the sergeant arrived with several lengths of rope, which he used to tightly tie my feet down to the chair legs and my hands behind its back. The chair had a higher back, making it impossible for me to try to wiggle out.

The marine that carried me in winked at me and left, closing the door behind him. I noticed that the door was sound-proofed. The sergeant turned to me and started our wonderful conversation with a crushing blow to the side of my face followed up with an under-cut to my abdomen. I doubled over as far as the restraints would allow, gasping for breath. I think I spent about an hour tied to that chair, taking a merciless beating from that sergeant.

After the minutes and seconds melted together like butter I began to zone out when the sergeant spoke. I heard his voice, but not his words. Finally, he splashed ice-cold water in my face, snapping me back to reality. My body ached all over from all of the blows. I definitely had cracked ribs from the shooting incident earlier and a broken arm and shattered wrist from this man. I coughed up blood eventually as he bore on.

Finally after what seemed like hours, the sergeant was done. He untied me from the chair, allowing blood to flow into my hands and feet again, and put me back into one of the force cages. I remained there for roughly twenty minutes when it began.

In the Trojan Wars, after the Greeks had made no headway against the defending Trojans, Odysseus came up with the brilliant plan of the Trojan Horse. The chieftains hid in that horse while the Greek Army relocated to the adjacent harbor and made it look as if they had left for good. However, a Greek named Sinon had remained to convince the Trojans to take the horse into the city, sealing their fate. My company had just used me as their 'Sinon', the name we used for the maneuver, making the marines think we had retreated while at the same time gathering the very intel we needed to mount an assault. My helmet camera had recorded every inch of the compound when I was carried in and sent it all to my fellow spartan-IIIs. Now, with the knowledge of the layout of the compound, they struck.

The marines were caught by surprise. After all, how could anyone possibly evade the armored patrol in the forest? The answer was simple; taking a long loop around to the other approach. Gamma Company attacked from the south instead of the north. Dozens of marines were felled by tranq-rounds before they knew what was happening.

I heard the door blow open and turned my head to see Ash-G099, Ty, and Robin, stride into the block. They caught sight of me and sprinted over, helping me out of the force cage and onto the floor.

"Oh, Jesus, man—" Ty exclaimed, but I stopped him.

"Don't worry—it was fun," I cracked a faint smile. It was Ty's turn to carry me, now. Robin came over and joined us as we ducked and ran for the perimeter as loads of re-enforcements for the marines arrived. I saw Sam and Emma grab hold of the flag and sprint our way with it. We all grouped up and got the hell out of there, covered by a blanketing hail of tranq-rounds, courtesy of the rest of the company.

"So!" I managed to shout as we ran for the forest, "who thinks we'll be fighting Covies on Earth when we get outta here?"

"Naw," Robin shook his head, "There's no _way_ those bloody aliens will find Earth, what with the Cole Protocol and all."

"I dunno," Em said, "They came so close so many times. I think it's inevitable."

"Fine, I'll tell you what," Robin rolled his eyes, "If we _do_ end up doing as he said, fighting them on Earth when we get out and all, I'll let Alex give me a five-star."

I smiled wolfishly and flexed my good hand. "You're on."

As my team reached the safety of the forest, the rest of the company melted away into the trees and underbrush.

The marines were left dazed and bewildered as the children who had just rampaged through their HQ vanished into the forest as suddenly as they had arrived.


	3. Author's Note

_**Author's Note**_

Hello gentle and benevolent readers.

I just wanted to take some time to explain a few things about myself. If you don't care one way or another, then by all means, skip to chapter 3.

My name is Connor, I'm 16 years old, I live in Pennsylvania, and I have a few boring-as-hell classes in my High School, and as a result I've written several stories in my notebooks during those classes a lot (ever since I was in 6th grade), and it's from that that I gained most of my experience, that and observing other writing styles such as Eric Nylund's Halo novels and the Natalie Cooper Halo series on this website.

It's always easy to write a story for yourself, then move on when it gets boring, but this is my first time writing for _others_ as well. When you start writing for others, the rules change.

My one flaw was diving into a story without really thinking it through; I'm more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants writer, incorporating interesting plot points whenever I see fit.

Problem is, once you do that too much the story can be come complicated and you lose sight of what you were originally hoping to accomplish.

Well, I was lucky enough to fix that a few days ago. I said in the description that it would take place in the unseen events of Halo 3, but I've decided to broaden that to the invasion of Earth circa-Halo 2 to Installation 00. The characters will be remaining on Earth during Installation 05, however, taking a Halo: ODST approach to that segment of time.

Well I think I've blabbed enough for now, so enjoy the series. See you on the other side!


	4. Chapter 3: Beginning of the End

Chapter Three: Beginning of the End

**1600 Hours, October 21, 2552 (Military Calendar) \ (Five Years Later)  
In Orbit of Earth, Sol System**

**UNSC Breath of Winter**

**Spartan III Alex-G004**

I officially hate cryo-tubes. The only thing I hated more was probably the augmentation process I had to suffer through two years ago that made me and the rest of the company full-fledged super-soldiers. The cryo-tubes are these tubes that lie at a 45 degree angle against the walls of the chamber which stop the affects of aging during slipspace jumps. You have to strip down to nothing and lie down on the form-fitting gel-bed inside before the freeze occurs. It wasn't all that bad at first; I remember feeling very cold for a split-second before—well I can't remember anything after that because I forget most of my dreams as soon as I wake up.

No, the ­_worst_ part of the damn things was waking up. I opened my eyes slowly, taking in my surroundings as the cryo-tube opened, allowing the dim light of the chamber stream in. The first thing I noticed was a gel-like fluid filling up my lungs and I immediately sat up and doubled over, choking so hard I was half-afraid my guts would come out.

I heard a shout and running footsteps and eventually felt a hand slam into my upper back. The effect was immediate; the fluid in my lungs came up and out of my mouth in a thick and violent stream which was absorbed by the gel-bed.

I still continued to cough until I was sure my lungs were completely clear. Breathing in sweet, wonderful recycled air of the naval vessel I looked up to see Robin standing over me, massaging his hand. I cracked a grin. "I thought I was supposed to give _you_ the five-star."

"I can put that fluid back inside you if you want," Robin retorted as he extended a hand and helped me out of the tube.

"Yeah, but then you would have to deal with the wrath of my girlfriend," I shot back. Robin and I got along well. We had a love-hate friendship; constantly needling each other one minute and practically hugging the next.

My friendship with Sam had also blossomed over the past five years ever since I took a beating during that one class 12 training op. We finally became more than friends last year during a day of spotter/sniper training on the Tree house; a platform on Onyx 100 meters off the ground set in the branches of a colossal banyan tree. Having relationships with comrades was frowned upon, but not specifically prohibited, and Lt. Commander Ambrose had overlooked Sam and I and kept us in the same team.

The Lt. Commander had not accompanied us off Onyx, for reasons of his own. I knew that our top three teams; Saber, Katana, and Gladius, had remained on Onyx to compete for top honors, so maybe he would follow us later with them, but I couldn't know for sure.

I followed Robin into the locker room outside of the cryo-chamber. It was here where most of Gamma Company were getting dressed into their combat fatigues and armor. We got to our lockers and opened them up, catching the armor and clothes before they fell.

Sam was already slipping her shirt on when we arrived. She nodded to us.

"Damn, if only we got here five seconds sooner…" I sighed in mock-sorrow.

Sam shot me a look and actually held it for a few seconds before a smile broke through. "Nice try," she said. She whipped her fiery red hair back and tied it to keep it out of her eyes while she put on and sealed her helmet.

I quickly pulled on my boxers, pants, and shirt.

"How'd your unfreezing go?" Sam asked me, ignoring Robin's inaudible chuckle.

"Well," I cleared my throat, "aside from nearly drowning and choking to death on the same crap in my lungs that's supposed to keep them from freezing up, pretty well."

Her expression immediately changed to one of concern. "Are you alright? Did it—"

I paused from sealing my lower and torso armor. "I'm breathing; that's good enough for me."

Em showed up a second later. "Hello, fellow freaks," was her customary greeting. She whipped into her armor faster than a MAC cannon round.

"Ty back there?" Robin gestured towards the cryo-chamber where the last spartans were waking up.

"Probably not, I didn't see him," Em shrugged.

"No, Ty's already waiting in the hangar—" Sam started to say when the bright red emergency lights snapped on suddenly, bathing the room in a scarlet pallor, accompanied by a loud ship-wide alarm.

"All hands report to battle stations, all hands report to battle stations! This is not a drill, I repeat, this is NOT a drill!" the voice of a bridge officer came over the ship-wide COM.

"This can't be good…" Em broke the silence.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**[Bridge of the UNSC Breath of Winter]**

The UNSC _Breath of Winter_ was a rare improved Marathon-class Cruiser, containing a crew of roughly one thousand and manned by a whole battalion of marines from the 117th Marine Regiment. It was the apple of Research and Development's eye. The _Winter_ had new pulse lasers made from reverse-engineered Covenant technology installed by the R&D experts, as well as specialized MAC cannons capable of firing multiple rounds at a time and able to turn 45 degrees in either direction independently of the ship, allowing for faster and more efficient firing procedures.

Captain Reginald Newman calmly paced the bridge, listening to the bridge crew's regular reports. Newman was a tall British man with a small yellow mustache who looked 'complete' in a captain's uniform.

The _Winter_ had been in Slipspace for well over a week following a jump from Onyx, a world Newman had never heard of before because it was not supposed to exist.

"What is our ETA?" he asked patiently.

The shipboard AI, Polaris, appeared over his projection pad. He took the shape of a detective in the stereotypical tan trench coat and low-brimmed fedora. He was an extremely useful part of the ship and was known for being logical to the extreme, usually talking more than was required. "We should be dropping back into normal space in approximately two minutes."

"Are all of the marines out of the cryo-chambers?" Newman inquired the AI.

"Affirmative."

Captain Newman's 1st Officer, Commander Lawrence Donnelly, hurried onto the bridge, breathing heavily. He had been personally overseeing the thawing out of the mysterious individuals in Cryo-Chamber Three. "Our precious cargo is hot."

Newman nodded. "Thank you, Commander, take the tactical station."

The _Winter_ had been on a routine patrol around Sigma Octanus IV when Captain Newman had been contacted by an ONI official and ordered to proceed directly to the Zeta Doradus system. There, they had been escorted to the planet of Onyx and had a large group of over three hundred teenagers no older than sixteen transported onto his ship. They had proceeded directly to Cryo-Chamber Three, not telling him anything of their nature or purpose. The ONI official had been just as tight-lipped, merely ordering Newman to proceed to Earth.

The captain had been shocked. Proceeding straight to Earth would have been in direct violation of the Cole Protocol, the military law that forbade direct slipspace jumps to human worlds and, in the event of capture, the removal of any and all data from a ship's database that could _lead_ the Covenant to said human worlds.

He had presented this argument to the ONI official, but the official disregarded him, saying that very soon the Protocol would not matter. This unsettled Newman greatly, but he followed his orders to the letter and was nearly finished carrying them out.

Lieutenants Hunter and Harrison entered the bridge, fresh out of the cryo-freeze, and took the helm and COM stations respectively while Lt. Commander Engleson manned the weapons station.

Polaris's green aura pulsed brightly as he finished calculations to drop out of the slipstream. "Returning to normal space…..now—"

The ship rumbled as it snapped back into reality, flooding the sensors and monitors with the normal data and images that were non-existent in slipspace.

Unfortunately, those images were filled with roughly twenty Covenant frigates and cruisers assaulting the Home Fleet over Earth.

"Covenant?!" Engleson gasped, "Here, at Earth!!?"

"Battle stations!" Donnelly shouted, "Harrison, get the ship up to full readiness!"

Lt. Harrison activated the ship-wide COM which behaved like a PA system. "All hands report to battle stations, all hands report to battle stations! This is not a drill, I repeat, this is NOT a drill!"

"No use in observing from a distance," Newman said to Lt. Hunter on the helm, "Bring us in, nice and steady. Harrison," he turned to the communications officer, "get the marines and our precious cargo to the hangar bays."

Even as the _Winter_ approached the raging orbital battle several Covenant frigates turned to intercept it. Their plasma cannons started to glow as the warmed up.

The bridge crew sprang into action, calling out data and relaying orders to the rest of the ship.

"Evasive maneuvers! Hard to starboard!" Newman shouted as the Covenant ships turned towards the _Winter_.

Lt. Hunter checked her console's readings and made course corrections to avoid collisions. "Evasive maneuvers, aye sir."

Polaris's aura flashed again as he calculated the _Winter's_ odds of survival. "This is—ehm—not good. I calculate our odds of survival in a ship-to-ship engagement as—"

"I don't want to hear it," Newman cut the AI off, "Bring weapons systems online. Charge the MACs and plot a solution," Newman ordered as he sat in the captain's chair, "Gentlemen, we are about to make them regret being on the wrong side of this war."


	5. Chapter 4: Landfall

Chapter Four: Landfall

**1700 Hours, October 21, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Earth, Sol System**

**New Mombasa, Kenya**

**Spartan III Alex-G004**

The inside of my HEV pod felt like an oven as the heat of re-entry tore away at the ceramic skin covering its exterior. I lay inside of my orbital entry vehicle, firmly strapped in and none the better for it except being able to be shaken like a rag-doll in rhythm with the pod as opposed to against it. My ODST armor attempted to compensate for the rising temperatures, but the friction against Earth's atmosphere was too great.

Sure, the heat wouldn't kill me or any other man riding in one of these titanium coffins, but that doesn't mean I have to _like_ it. I never saw a marine enjoy severe plasma burns just because they didn't die of them, so I sure as hell didn't have to enjoy _this_ little cosmic roller-coaster in Earth's atmosphere.

After the _Breath of Winter_ had come under attack by the group of Covenant ships, Gamma Company had been ordered to report to the hangar bay. There, we got an impromptu instruction class about the operations and usage of Single-Occupant Exoatmospheric Entry Vehicles, or HEVs for short. After our little crash-course we had been sent to the drop bays and herded into the HEV pods to await orbital insertion into various places all over Earth. All I knew was that my team and a few others were bound for some city in Kenya, Africa. Before we knew it the order was given and we were released into our homeworld's gravity well.

A COM broadcast yanked my mind back into the heated reality of my HEV. "Approaching 3,000 feet, prepare to jettison drag chutes," the voice of Ty-G083 reminded me and my three other teammates who were in freefall in their own HEVs somewhere nearby.

I flicked my eyes over to the altitude read-out on my left. The moment it reached 3,000 I pounded the chute release. A titanium-A drag chute opened and released above my pod, causing a sudden jerk and noticeable deceleration, giving my pod a chance to correct any faults that would compromise a safe landing.

As my pod neared the Earth's surface the drag chute detached. Still watching the altitude reader, I waited for it to reach 500 feet, and when it did I held my breath and hit the HEV's retro thrusters, the rockets on the pod's underside that would provide the final deceleration to allow it to land "safely" at upwards of 90 kilometers per hour. That was still fast, but any ODST would agree that it was preferable to terminal velocity. The thrusters caused an even greater jerk than before, bruising my immobilized shoulders. I squeezed my eyes shut as the resulting powerful G-force ripped at my face and body for several seconds until my HEV made landfall on the surface with the greatest jolt of all.

I lay there, panting and out of breath even though I hadn't moved so much as an arm the whole time. I massaged my bruised shoulders gingerly, muttering darkly about the numerous discomforts of orbital insertion, but in truth I was just glad to be back on solid ground.

Fighting on the ground was infinitely preferable to naval combat in my opinion. On the ground, no matter what Fate decided to throw our way, there were always ways to manipulate the situation to our advantage. On the ground, we were in control of our own destiny. On ships, however, it was all up to the pilots, the Captain, and the AI to fight the enemy off. There was nothing that a spartan like me could do on a ship except twiddle my thumbs and pray to the Big Guy in the Sky not to get blown up.

I blew the HEV's front, allowing the sounds of war to pour in like hot lead into a mould. I released the breath I'd been holding ever since I'd hit the retro thrusters and slowly un-strapped myself, grabbed a BR55 battle rifle and my ever-faithful sniper rifle, now loaded with live 14.5x114 mm APFSDS rounds, and climbed out.

I took in my surroundings. I was in the western outskirts of a large island covered in modern infrastructure; the city of New Mombasa. The sun was beginning to fall from its noon-time apex in the sky towards the western horizon, where I could see the Mombasa suspension bridge connecting the coast of New Mombasa to the mainland. The older, run-down Old Mombasa section of the city on the mainland ran nearly as far as the eye could see. There were three phantoms hovering over different points of the city, each one constructing an anti-air battery amidst the rooftops. I had landed on top of a five-story tall office building which towered over its single or two-story neighbors. It was on a wide street which ran from downtown New Mombasa to the suspension bridge, from which the building I was on was around half a kilometer or so away.

I looked down into the street to see at least a company's-worth of marines battling tooth and nail on that street against a mass of Covenant ground forces blocking the way to the bridge. I also saw the still-smoking pods of the other four members of Team Rapier further back in the street. It was a stroke of luck that I, being the sharpshooter, had landed on a roof-top.

I hefted my sniper rifle and walked up to the edge of the building, resting my weapon on the chest-high wall encircling the roof's edge. I adjusted my sights for maximum accuracy and conducted a target-area sweep to determine which targets were worth my attention _now_ as opposed to later.

I centered my cross-hairs onto a single elite in golden armor wielding a glowing energy sword who seemed to be coordinating the legion of Covenant troops. I steadied my breathing and eventually held my breath as I fixed my aim. I grinned slightly, a cold smile that wasn't one of happiness and didn't reach my eyes, and squeezed the trigger. The familiar recoil and report from the sniper rifle occurred as the gas-powered firing mechanism propelled the round out of the rifle, sending it on a straight and true path through the air until it buried itself into the golden-armored elite's skull, sending a large spray of blue blood onto anything that had been near it.

That was my first kill in this war.

The initial euphoria of the first kill gone, I set to work; eliminating every elite and brute I saw. Elites were the command structure of Covenant military units, and therefore were usually always top-priority to take down first, excluding Hunters. Brutes were next on the totem pole because they could cause untold amounts of havoc if they ever got close enough for close combat.

As I finally got my cross-hairs onto a particularly elusive elite major, my COM unit squawked and Tyrone's voice came through again. "Alex, we're pinned down by heavy plasma-fire! Take their ground turrets out; the elites can wait their turn for now!"

"I read ya, Team Leader," I responded. _Well, squid-face, today's your lucky day_ I mentally said to the lucky elite major as I redirected my aim. I got a visual of my teammates; they were hunkered down behind an overturned eighteen-wheeler with a squad of marines. Unrelenting plasma-fire peppered the other side of the downed truck, threatening to melt anything that stuck its face over or around the protective metal barrier, pinning my friends down. I followed the trail of plasma down the road several hundred yards and focused in on a semi-circle of concrete barriers surrounding a Covenant assault platform, a circular violet platform held aloft in the air by gravity generators below. From the platform and behind the concrete barriers were six plasma turrets; all of them concentrating their fire on the truck.

I centered my sights on a green-armored heavy-weapons grunt manning one of the turrets on the ground. I sighed inwardly, grunts weren't usually worth wasting a whole sniper round on, but the turrets were too far away to accurately hit with a BR55. I took the little tick out with a single shot. I likewise took care of the other three turrets on the ground. Now, with the fire reduced, my team and the marine squad could quickly begin to return fire in sporadic bursts.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Em, who served as Team Rapier's heavy weapons and demolitions specialist, raise her Jackhammer rocket launcher over the edge of the eighteen wheeler's flatbed and fire off a blazing orange rocket. The rocket hit the assault platform and destroyed it in a massive explosion which also destroyed the idle plasma turrets on the ground, preventing any future use.

I broadened my COM channel to include the company of marines fighting alongside my teammates and coordinated with their Jackhammer-operators to destroy the remaining plasma-turret nests. From their chatter, I learned that they were Delta Company of the 77th Marine Regiment and that we were fighting on Nuiri Boulevard to retake the Mombasa Bridge approach. Our main objective was to reach the Zharu Industries parking garage, a multi-level behemoth that stood to the right of the bridge's entrance. If we could secure and fortify it, it would be able to cover the entire bridge approach. The problem would soon be finding a way to deal with the phantom drop-ships capable of inserting hostile forces from the air.

I returned my thoughts to the battle and spied a solo yellow-armored brute captain rampaging through one of the marines' positions, its armor shot away and a maniacal fury in its eyes. I sent a round into its skull just as it was about to snap an unlucky man's spine.

"Alright boys, we've softened 'em up enough for now, move up!" an older voice, clearly the company commander, ordered over the COM.

My team and the marines all broke cover and started to charge up the half-kilometer stretch of Nuiri Boulevard towards the parking garage. I redoubled my efforts and took out many more elites and brutes, softening the way for my comrades. Twice I had to pause to duel a bold jackal with a beam rifle, but I proved myself the better marksman. I moved up along the roof of my building as far as possible to get a clearer shot of the parking garage's approach without cutting off my view of the rest of the road.

As Delta Company neared their goal, a phantom swooped in from the mainland and deployed another assault tower and several files of grunts and jackals led by more elites. The phantom opened up on the charging humans with its plasma cannon as it veered away, killing two and wounding several more, but the rest were able to take cover.

I began to take out the elites and counter-snipe the jackals when Ty contacted me again, this time ordering me to move. "Alex, we're picking up more Covenant aerial forces inbound! If you don't want to get separated from us and trapped on your rooftop I would suggest you get your ass moving _now_! Don't worry about our new arrivals; they don't have any heavy weapons so we can grind 'em up ourselves."

As if on cue, a formation of five banshees soared out of the west heading right for my building. An elite must have spotted me and called their air force in. I swore loudly and slung my sniper rifle over my back. The banshees strafed the rooftop and let loose fuel-rod projectiles. One of them hit the roof-access stairwell, removing my exit. The others impacted close to me, too close. I was hurled against the safety wall at the other end of the roof by the force of the combined explosions. Not hesitating, I landed on my feet and leaped over the wall, falling five stories to the sided-walk below. As I landed I tucked my head between my knees and went into a roll, absorbing the shock of the fall. Normally it would be impossible to escape such a fall unscathed, but ever since my company's augmentation two years ago when special metal bone-grafts had been grafted onto my skeleton, rendering them virtually unbreakable, I could do many things normal men could not; such as falling from a five-story rooftop without breaking a bone.

The banshees broke off to avoid colliding with the building, something that was obviously not on their agenda. I picked myself up and took off running down the street, dodging smoldering holes and strewn human and Covenant corpses. The banshees regrouped and banked for another pass. "Uhh—I could use some help out here!" I shouted into my COM. I was two hundred yards from the parking garage when the banshees opened fire, ripping up the sidewalk around me with plasma-fire. I was hit several times in my right leg and lower right side. A searing agony rushed through my right side and my leg gave out, sending me tumbling into a bloodied heap on the sidewalk.

I let out a scream and squeezed my eyes shut, taking fast, deep breaths. I was lucky that the banshees had run out of space; they pulled up and, having taken their target down, departed to deal with marines in another part of the city. I felt a strong grip on my shoulders and looked up to see Tyrone dragging me towards the parking garage's entrance. "I gotcha," my team leader reassured me. That calmed me down a bit. "Damn," he observed my right side, "them banshees really gave you a roasting! Don't worry, your armor withstood the shots, you just have—uh—severe burns. Lucky the shots didn't penetrate, otherwise you'd be in a coma right now. We had to physically restrain Sam from running out for ya when we heard the banshees—it'll calm her down to see you alive—even so, I—" I knew he was talking to me just to keep me from going into shock which would not be good without a medic nearby, but even so I couldn't help but feel a bit sleepy. The world darkened, my eyelids drooped, and I finally drifted off into a warm and peaceful slumber.


	6. Chapter 5: Preparations

Chapter Five: Preparations

**2000 Hours, October 21, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Earth, Sol System**

**New Mombasa, Kenya**

**Spartan III Alex-G004**

It felt as if maybe two minutes had passed when I cracked open my eyes, yet I found myself firmly tied down onto a stretcher on the third level of the Zharu parking garage with my torso, helmet, and right leg armor plates removed, exposing my plasma burns. The sun, instead of being at its former place high in the sky, was now touching the western horizon, bathing the inside of the parking garage with a rich, golden light. I could also see the silhouette of a huge Covenant Assault Carrier which was still deploying troops and phantoms into Old Mombasa.

An unfamiliar helmet-less medic clad in ODST armor, whose ID plate read _D. Hoffman_, was leaning over me and in the process of filling my wounds with bio-foam. I shuddered as the tissue-regenerative foam polymer filled my leg and abdominal cavity, making it feel like I had a colony of fire-ants crawling around the wounds. That was the thing about bio-foam; it was an epitome of advanced medical technology. It stops bleeding, keeps organs in place, and even helps regenerate lost epidermal or organ tissue, but what tarnishes a track record like that is the fact that it's so damn _painful_ to use. Still, it was preferable to bleeding my life essence out onto the ground. The medic noticed that I was conscious and gave me an assuring nod.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, son," the medic, Hoffman, said to me, "those banshees really gave you a very, very warm farewell."

"You're not with Delta Company," I noted, "Oh man...how long have I been—"

Hoffman quelled my questions as he emptied the canister of bio-foam, casting it away. "I'm sorry about the restraints, but you were thrashing in your sleep. If I hadn't tied you down you could have severely injured yourself. Try to go easy on your body for a little bit. _I know_—" he continued forcefully even as I began to protest, "asking something like that of a spartan is like asking an elite to brush his teeth, but you _can't_ put any stress on those wounds until the arteries repair themselves, otherwise you'll bleed out and we'd need a keg of bio-foam to stop it, which we don't have. You're staying put."

"Could you at least take these off?" I strained against the steel cords binding my arms and legs to the stretcher's frame.

Hoffman merely chuckled and shook his head, "Nice try, but you're not getting up that easy. I know that the moment I take those off you'll be up and running again and there won't be a thing I can do about it, so I'm leaving them on until I deem you fit for duty."

I couldn't help but approve of his no-nonsense attitude. This man looked to be in his mid-forties, but he had obviously been through several campaigns and knew how to handle patients. I knew he was doing the right thing…even if it was preventing me from doing the very thing I had been created for; turning any Covie I saw into a lead sandwich.

"Aw common, Doc, I promise I'll be good," I tried one last time.

"See you in a bit," Hoffman said, picking up his helmet and walking off to check on any other wounded marines.

I let out a frustrated sigh. Occasionally a passing marine would nod to me or stop to ask a few questions, but they all had jobs to do and couldn't stay.

About half an hour later I heard a commotion down on the ground level as the barriers blocking the entrance was temporarily removed. Soon, a large group of warthogs ascended the ramp into the third level and some stopped while the rest continued up. In some of the warthogs were heavy M41 LAAG gatling-style guns and scavenged Covenant plasma cannons while the others were piled high with the ammunition for them. I saw Tyrone and Sam hop out of one of the warthogs and help the marines set up the heavy turrets at the chest-high walls so that they could cover the entire Mombasa bridge approach. After all of the turrets were set up along the perimeter the marines began setting up metal shields made of scrap metal from the cars in the parking garage around the turret positions. Those shields would protect the gunners from jackal snipers. The shields were curved wide enough to allow a gunner to turn in a full semi-circle while still being fully protected. They also had strips cut out of them at eye-level so that the gunners could see what they were shooting at, but they were also thin enough so that jackal snipers couldn't send an energy beam through them.

Ty caught sight of me awake and jogged over to my stretcher. "Hey, man, it's about time! Crazy bastard, takin' on five banshees at once, one o' these days you're gonna run into something as invincible as you are!"

"Thanks, big guy," I moved to give him a friendly punch on the shoulder, and then remembered that my arm was still held in place by the steel cords. _Crap,_ I thought to myself. Sam silently approached from behind Ty stood next to him. She gave me a smile. Tyrone noticed her and looked back at me. He winked and gave me the friendly punch on my shoulder. "I'll give you lovebirds some private time. See y'all around." He stood up and went to resume helping the marines with their task.

I wasted no time. "Quick, get these things off me," I gestured at the steel restraints with my head.

"Sorry, Ace, I can't," Sam said apologetically as she sat down next to me.

"What?! Common, whatever that medic told you, I can't just—"

"You don't understand," Sam cut me off, "the cords go straight through the stretcher and are held by bio-thumbprint locks."

"What?! Who is that medic anyway?! I don't even remember him from the boulevard!"

"Hoffman's a medic with a squad of ODST Spec. Ops forces. They dropped in over two hours ago, just after your little run-in with the banshees. And unless you happen to have Mr. Hoffman's thumbs handy—no pun intended—for those bio-locks, you're not going anywhere."

I let out another frustrated sigh. "Ah well…I guess _you'll_ have to do all work this time."

Sam smiled again. "What's changed, then?" she said as she leaned in close.

That made me laugh. "Okay, that hurt me on the inside." Our lips brushed once, then met in a warm kiss. It lasted only several seconds before we parted, but it was _so_ worth it. "Now take that back!" I said scornfully.

"Not until the war's over," Sam answered, sitting back up and brushing her hair out of her eyes.

"Then how about another—"

"Come on, Ace, do you _want_ us to get slapped with a PDA violation?"

PDA stood for Public Display of Affection. Such acts were in violation of military protocol and could result in mild to severe consequences, depending on the act itself.

"We're spartans, Sam, the best soldiers and the best hope of the UNSC; what're they gonna do to us? Send us to our rooms?"

Sam sighed. "You can be such a little kid," she admonished, but her mouth still curved upwards in the hint of a grin. "Tell you what; I'll save you another kiss for _after_ the battle. Deal?"

"Deal."

Sam had to go and help the marines with the turret shields, leaving me alone once more with my thoughts. I thought of what my life could be like if the war ever ended. I was a creature of this war, _created_ for this war. I may still be a kid, but my purpose in life was to be a killer; I wasn't so naïve as to think differently. All the same, right now I wanted nothing more than to join the marines and my team in the battle, to have that tangible chance to secure a future for myself and hopefully Sam, but even my augmented muscles couldn't compete with steel cord.

Robin and Em both visited me briefly twenty minutes later, but they also had duties to attend to. Team Falchion, one of the other two Spartan-III teams that had been dropped into New Mombasa along with mine, had arrived at the parking garage to bolster our strength with their own. I had a nice little chat with Eric-G298, their team leader, and Randall-G001, one of my friends from Onyx.

They also informed me of the battle plan; apparently we were going to have to hold the New Mombasa island until tomorrow when reinforcements would arrive via the orbital elevator. In the meantime, we had destroyed all other points of access to New Mombasa except for the suspension bridge, and the forces stationed here in the parking garage would ensure that nothing got through. The other three surviving companies in the regiment; designated Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie respectively, had each overrun one of the Covenant anti-air batteries and now commandeered them. They would be utilized to knock any inbound phantoms out of the sky before they could drop troops behind our perimeter.

I finally managed to relax while the world whizzed around me. Eventually the turret shields were completed and the marines proceeded to distribute ammo and weapons to amongst themselves and report to their posts along the wall, readying themselves for the upcoming battle. The same routine was being repeated on all the other four levels of the parking garage.

As the sun finally dipped below the horizon and the day began its transition into twilight, Covenant troops were spotted beginning to cross the bridge. Ty called for all of the gunners to choose their targets and wait until they got close.

Marines wielding Jackhammers and old archer missile-pods mounted on tri-pods took up positions between the turrets and primed their weapons, waiting for Covenant armor to make its grand entrance.

Several minutes passed without any movement. Nothing happened until I heard the '_**SHOOP'**_ of a wraith tank firing its plasma mortar. An explosion sounded someplace close by.

Ty tensed and waiting for the Covenant forces to come into range. "Jackhammers and archers, hold your fire until we give 'em our lil' surprise! All turrets, take aim get ready!"

Another minute passed, followed by several more explosions and tumbling mortar as the impacts drew closer.

Delta Company's CO, who was currently down on the first level of the garage, ordered the marines to engage. Ty aimed his BR55 and relayed the captain's command. "All units, open fire!"


	7. Chapter 6: Hold the Line!

Chapter Six: Hold the Line!

**2200 Hours, October 21, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Earth, Sol System**

**Zharu Industries Parking Garage, New Mombasa**

**Spartan III Alex-G004**

Night had fallen over New Mombasa. The star-sprinkled sky was still lit up regularly by the bright green discharges of the captured AA batteries further into the city, but despite that, the only illumination came from the numerous street lights. The Covenant had advanced up the Mombasa suspension bridge and engaged our position in the parking garage an hour ago. The first wave was all we had seen so far. They sent in a mass of grunts and drones and a single wraith tank first. Our perimeter had been peppered with plasma-pistol shots and the explosive purple spikes of needler weapons, but nothing too serious; we didn't lose a single man in that assault. We quickly tore the grunts and drones to shreds with the M41 LAAGs and captured plasma cannons and took out the wraith with a well-aimed rocket.

The Covenant forces had pulled back after we destroyed their wraith. I knew that the first wave had been cannon fodder, nothing except a feeler to get a sense of our defenses and firepower. They had yet to attack again, but we could all feel it coming. It was like being in a dark tunnel; you could hear the train coming and even see its light around the corner, but the train itself had yet to make its grand entrance. In some ways, the wait before a fight could be just as bad as the fight itself. The one bright side of waiting for a fight was the fact that you _knew_ the fight was coming. Any marine would rather suffer through the wait than be surprised in an ambush.

The dust had settled for over an hour when Doc. Hoffman, the medic of the squad of ODST Spec. Ops who had treated me earlier returned to my stretcher. He lifted the bandages over my burns and scrutinized them with the eyes of a hawk, making sure his decision would be the right one. Finally he nodded to himself and replaced the bandages with some fresh ones. "Your arteries have fully healed and are working fine; you're free to go," he said as he bent down and unlocked my restraints, freeing my arms and legs from the stretcher's frame.

I climbed out of the stretcher and stretched my cramped, aching muscles. I grabbed my sniper rifle and briefly inspected it before slinging it over my back. I slipped two dozen extra clips into my belt.

"I really am sorry for keeping you confined like that," Hoffman said as he gathered his gear together, "But I've been through a lot of campaigns and I've treated a lot of people. I've _lost_ patients before because I've trusted them; so if tying someone down is what it takes to ensure their survival, then so be it. Hopefully I won't be seeing you again too much," he nodded to me and headed off to another part of the parking garage.

I couldn't really blame the Doc; if I had the chance I _would_ have disobeyed him. It was my nature as a spartan; the mission always, _always,_ comes first. Personal safety was a bonus perk that usually didn't exist. I made sure to thank him as he left.

Hoffman also had impeccable timing. I knew that the Covenant had pulled their forces back because they knew what we were capable of and were deliberating on how best to deal with it. The answer to how they would respond came right afterwards in the form of fifteen wraiths, a few dozen ghosts, and several contingents of heavily armored brutes led by an even more heavily armored chieftain wielding a large crackling gravity hammer, the brutes' signature weapon. The sight made my stomach turn to lead for a moment, but I dismissed the feeling. I found my ODST armor on the other side of my stretcher and began putting it on.

I watched Tyrone check his M90 shotgun quickly before turning back to the approaching wave of armor and infantry. When I finally got into my armor and went up to stand next to him he told me that we had another plan in order. Captain McCandlish, Delta Company's commanding officer, and the CO of the ODST Spec. Ops team, Captain Shepard, had collaborated together and decided to temporarily remove the barrier blocking the parking garage's entrance. McCandlish also stationed some of his men who were the best shots with the BR55 on the ground level as well. When I asked why, Ty merely told me to wait.

I adjusted my sights and scope and performed my usual target area sweep. The enemy column had nearly reached the end of the bridge. I heard Ty call for everyone to get ready to engage. He also ordered the turret gunners to take out as many ghosts as they could, but at the same time allow some through. I frowned for a moment, but figured Ty had a good reason for giving an order like that. He wasn't the kind of kid who would give an unusual order that wouldn't serve a purpose. The marines obviously shared that sentiment. The gunners checked their turrets and made sure they had their allotted ammo. The two missile pods were mounted on tripods and had to be manned by three marines each; two to hold it up and keep it steady, and a third to aim and fire.

I observed the wraiths; they were large bluish-purple tanks shaped like a computer mouse. The entire vehicle, even its underside, was heavily armored. It had a plasma mortar on top which served as its main weapon and a secondary plasma cannon right in front of the mortar which was operated by another individual. I focused in onto the lead wraith and centered my crosshairs onto the brute manning its plasma cannon. I held my breath to steady my aim and squeezed the trigger. The brute's head jerked back in a spray of purple blood and its body tumbled out of the gunner's nest, surprising its fellow brutes on the ground.

That's another thing I noticed; the attack was comprised entirely of grunts, jackals, and brutes. Hard as I looked, I didn't see a single elite amongst them. I shrugged and moved my aim to another wraith. Odd as the elites' absence was, it was far from something worth complaining about.

As the enemy column approached I took out most of the wraiths' gunners with well-aimed shots, neutralizing half of their firepower and reducing their combat effectiveness. The wraiths and infantry slowed to a crawl while the ghosts, piloted by grunts, leapt forward. Their forward cannons glowed as they warmed up.

"Open fire!" Tyrone roared down the line, "Remember to let some of 'em through!"

The turret-lined outer wall of the third level and those of all the others exploded to life. M41 LAAGs and plasma cannons hurled their ordinance into the advancing Covenant vehicular assault. Some of the ghosts dropped out of their boost to return fire. Their shots impacted on the turret shields, but caused no damage otherwise. The rest continued at their full speed down the boulevard only to run into our huge mountain of concrete barriers and dilapidated cars that blocked the road, preventing anything from advancing past the Zharu parking garage. The lead group of ghosts hit the LOTUS anti-tank mines we had planted in front of the road-block. They were disintegrated in the subsequent blasts. The surviving twenty or so ghosts broke off their charge and sped into the ground level of our parking garage through the open entrance.

As they sped in they slowed down to open fire, but McCandlish's men with the BR55s opened fire and took out their Unggoy drivers with numerous well-aimed three-round-bursts. The grunts were flipped out of their ghosts, which in turn powered down and settled onto the ground.

I heard the marines on the ground level come out of hiding and take up their positions on their turrets again while others took control of the captured ghosts and piloted them to gaps in the perimeters throughout the parking garage. Those ghosts provided much-needed additional fire with their twin plasma cannons that had a practically unlimited charge. The entrance barrier was also returned to its place.

One of the members of the ODST Spec Ops team, a buck private rookie named Pillsbury, took up a position next to me. Pillsbury, also wielding a sniper rifle, gave me a friendly nod. He was young, early twenties, and pretty short for an ODST. "You any good with that?" he asked me.

I chuckled. "I've sniped targets out of moving banshees in the simulator before. You?"

Pillsbury gave a nervous laugh. "I don't think I'm quite that accurate, but me and technology have a thing for each other. I was a really weird techie nerd back in High School, so people tell me, and I would—"

_**SHOOP!**_

"Incoming!" a marine shouted as the wraiths opened fire with their mortars. The parking garage shook as several barrages of the huge plasma bolts crashed into and around the building. The marines hunkered down until the onslaught subsided as the wraiths paused to allow their plasma to recycle and charge up.

The Covenant column started forward again. The marines opened fire on the infantry, taking down a number of brutes and mowing down rows of grunts and jackals. A few of the wraiths hit the LOTUS mines we had, sending them up skyward in flames and vaporizing anything that had been right next to them. I saw a wraith shot impact one of our turrets, vaporizing it along with its gunner. Our jackhammers and missile pods retaliated to the loss of the turret with a barrage of glowing ordinance that took down several more wraiths.

The brutes finally got close enough to our lines to return fire, sending a cloud of spiker rounds thudding into the walls and ceiling. Several marines went down, screaming for medics as the glowing orange spikes tore into them. In an incredible stroke of bad luck, two of the three marines manning one of the missile pods were hit. One of them was killed by a spike to the neck, but the other was only wounded in the shoulder and abdomen. Even so, he could no longer hold the pod up. The remaining marine at the pod, the gunner, cried out in surprise as he suddenly found himself bearing the missile pod's full weight.

Ty swore and left his post, making his way towards the struggling marine.

"Too—heavy—can't—" the marine panted, sweat rolling off his forehead as he struggled to keep the pod from dropping, which could damage it.

"Give me this—" Tyrone took the missile pod and wielded it by himself. He lifted it up over the wall and fired its remaining missiles, emptying its chamber. He called for a reload and two more marines to man the pod, putting it back on the tripod when both arrived.

Several hours passed and the brutes continued to steadily advance despite the losses our turrets were causing them. When they reached the perimeter of the ground level our Gauss warthogs opened up on them, driving them back. Pillsbury was eventually called up to the parking garage's roof to rejoin his team, leaving me the lone sniper on my floor. I systematically moved from brute to brute, taking them down with clean headshots. Eventually the heavy fire we were tossing at them thinned their ranks enough to the point where they couldn't afford another direct charge, so they took cover behind the burning husks of the destroyed wraiths.

I saw Eric-G298 lead Team Falchion out in front of the parking garage. Lightning fast, they tore through the surviving brutes on the left flank, so I concentrated my fire on the center, targeting brutes, grunts, or jackals that had one of my fellow spartans in their sights before they could fire. Even though Team Falchion dealt the attackers a large blow, they, too, were driven back by newly-arrived overwhelming reinforcements.

The brute chieftain let loose an earth-shattering roar and the hundreds of attacking Covenant surged forward, crashing into the ground level's perimeter. Our marines took a huge beating and were ultimately driven all the way back up to the third level, _my_ level. I abandoned my sniper post and took up a new position near Team Falchion's, this time covering the ramp leading up from the floor below. As the brutes began to pour in after our wounded I dropped quite a few of them, but there were too many to keep the ramp secure. The brute chieftain leaped up the ramp and brought his gravity hammer crashing to the ground, sending several unfortunate marines flying.

As the brutes began to push us back, Captain McCandlish came down to our level and started to fight alongside his men. "HOLD—THIS—LINE!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, "Get those LAAGs and plasma cannons turned around and aimed at the ramp! Push them back!! We will_** not**_ lose this floor!" As the men struggled to turn the turrets to suppress the onslaught, Ty unslung his shotgun and ripped a path straight through to the rampaging chieftain. The brute commander regarded him as a human would an ant and snickered with anticipation, raising his hammer and bringing it down in a powerful strike.

Ty met the blow and held it, turning the duel into a battle of strength, the chieftain pushing his hammer against Ty's shotgun. Ty broke off and, in a swift move, unsheathed his combat knife and drove it into the chieftain's side. During the split-second in which the chieftain paused to register the pain, Ty stepped forward, jammed his shotgun under the brute commander's chin, and blew the top of his head off.

_Show-off_... I thought to myself, rolling my eyes towards the heavens.

"Please tell me you got that on your helmet cam!" he hollered over to me as he took on a second brute.

I accessed my camera records in my HUD and recorded the clip of Tyrone's kill, saving it for later. "Yeah, you're good; now get the hell out of the turrets' way before that clip becomes our last memory of you!"

Ty finished off his current opponent and dove to the side as the marines, who had finished turning around the turrets and plasma cannons, opened fire, tearing the charging mass of aliens to ribbons. I could hear several of them complaining about the bloody shower, saying how long it would take them to get their armor clean again. Apparently dried brute's blood is a bear to scrub off.

The marines from the two levels above us double-timed it down the ramps and added their fire with our own. We steadily advanced until we were eventually firing down the ramp into the floor below, slowly driving the brutes back. Emma and Robin appeared, both wielding jackhammers, and fired down into the closely-grouped aliens, sending bodily matter and debris as high as the ceiling.

Delta Company poured down into the second level, keeping up their withering cloud of lead. When a marine ran out of ammo, he or she would pick up a dead brute's spiker or brute shot and turn them against their former masters.

We continued to push the Covenant attack force back yard by yard until the sky grew brighter and the sun began to peek over the horizon in the east. We had been fighting for over eight hours, non-stop.

I returned to my old sniping spot on the wall after we secured the ground level and began pushing the brute survivors outside. By now it was just brutes we were fighting; the grunts and jackals had been wiped out hours ago. I looked outside, surveying the battlefield. A trail of alien corpses ran from the beginning of the Mombasa Bridge all the way down Nuiri Boulevard and into our parking garage. But it wasn't the grisly mess that caught my attention; what caught my attention was the colossal Covenant…_thing_ advancing down the bridge right towards us. It was a huge vehicle that resembled an insect, albeit with four legs rather than six. It had four thick metal legs on which it moved, its chassis was wedge-shaped with an opening in the center for troops to walk in an out of, and it was capped on top by a large plasma turret. "All units, this is Eagle-Eye, I have an unknown contact bearing down on us due west," I reported over the COM.

"Shit, they have a scarab!" a marine shouted over the COM, followed by a stream of profanity coming from nearly everyone who was still breathing. Scarabs were originally employed by the Covenant as mining vehicles, but they soon realized their potential in warfare and modified them to become ultra-heavy assault vehicles. The only way to destroy the scarab from the ground would be to destroy its reactor, but the only way to charge at it was over half a kilometer of open ground, and then a length of open bridge; we'd be torn apart before we had a chance to blink. We also had no hornets or pelicans, so an aerial strike was out of the question. The sun rose higher into the sky, causing sunlight to reflect off the scarab's armor.

"Everyone take cover!" I heard a sergeant shout as the scarab's forward cannon warmed up and fired, discharging a long, crackling beam of plasma energy. The beam lanced into parking garage's front wall, causing significant damage to the walls and destroying several turrets.

_Now we're screwed_ I mentally said to myself as the scarab lumbered off the bridge. The sunlight reflected brightly off of its armor as it started to fire its cannon again and—

I frowned. The sun had already risen several minutes ago, so how could it reflect like that twice…how—

That's when my ears registered the gigantic explosion and inferno accompanying the flash which we had all mistaken at first to be blinding sunlight. It was not sunlight, however; what we had seen was the brief reflection of a blazing MAC round traveling at forty percent the speed of light. Several more explosions rocked the scarab platform and it vanished in a blaze of fire, ash, and debris. When the blinding light subsided and the smoke wafted away, all that remained of the scarab was the bottoms of its four legs; their tops glowing white with the heat of the heavy ordinance that had reduced the rest of the scarab to molten slag, which was now at the bottom of the Mombasa Strait.

Our COMs crackled as a new voice came onto our channel. "This is Commander Miranda Keyes of the UNSC In Amber Clad, heard you boys could use some backup down here." A UNSC frigate soared into view, its recently-used MAC cannons now quiet.

"Music to my ears, Commander," Captain McCandlish responded, "switch to a private channel and I'll give you a sit-rep—"

The marines returned to the parking garage, cleared out all of the alien corpses and, for the first time in hours, relaxed. I found the rest of my team and we lay back on the roof alongside the ODST Spec. Ops team, except for Doc Hoffman who was downstairs helping the wounded, letting the scarlet morning sun warm us.

Em was the first to break the silence. "That was…"

"A difficult ordeal you'd rather not suffer through again?" Aitken, one of the ODSTs, suggested.

"No, it was more of an intense exercise," Em decided.

The ODSTs grunted. They, for one, were weary to the bone. We all lay there in silence and nearly drifted off into sleep when Captain Shepard and Sergeant McNally, the team's sergeant, strode up onto the roof. "On your feet!" McNally barked.

The ODSTs groaned. "You gotta be kidding me, Sarge," Pillsbury groaned.

"Do you hear me laughing, dough-boy?" McNally answered without emotion.

Shepard took the floor. "You boys can rest when you finish helping Delta Company get rid of all those brute corpses that we created. Aitken, Pillsbury, get downstairs, rack up some wood from the office building just down the road, and start building a bonfire in the road. Jacobs, Miller, Behm, Diamond; help the marines get all those corpses into the street. Once the fire gets going we'll burn 'em all. Once that is done, _then_ you can rest. Get to it."

"Yes, sir!" the ODSTs said as they got to their feet and headed down the ramp. McNally followed, but Shepard stayed and turned to us. "Team Rapier, an ONI official is waiting downstairs in the basement. Don't ask me how he got here without our noticing, because I have no idea, but he needs to see you concerning a new mission which you will be assigned immediately. Good luck," the captain nodded to us and departed after his men.

"Another op, was he serious?" Robin asked.

I sighed. I guess this was the price of being a super-soldier; you were always needed everywhere, all the time.

"Guys like him don't joke about things like that," Em grumbled, "so yeah, we got another op."

Before the rest of us could vent, Tyrone stood up and ordered us to do the same. "What, did you lazy-asses think only _one_ op was enough for a single day? Get downstairs before I have to physically motivate y'all!"

_Here we go again....._ I grumbled in my mind.


	8. Chapter 7: Na Zdrovie

Chapter Seven: Na Zdrovie

**0030 Hours, October 31, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Earth, Sol System**

**Ural Mountains, Russia**

**Spartan III Alex-G004**

I think that when something bad is about to happen, it can be better to let it take you by surprise. The one exception to that philosophy would be an ambush or anything that may endanger a comrade's life; but when it involves not knowing how _cold_ the Ural Mountains can be, waiting for it would have been a killer. Even so, when I stepped off of the pelican that had brought me and the rest of my team to Vodka Outpost, originally Victor-2-3 Outpost but christened _Vodka_ by the local populace, the freezing cold air of the Russian mountains hit me like a sledge-hammer.

Nine days ago in New Mombasa, a Major Peter Evans, an ONI operative, had met with us in the basement of the Zharu Industries parking garage to brief us for our next mission. When he mentioned the Ural Mountains all he received in return were blank stares; all the spartans of Gamma Company had been born on different, mostly glassed, worlds. It was the desire for revenge of our losses that originally drove us to prove ourselves on Onyx. My point is that this was our first time setting foot on Earth and we never exactly took a geography class. The Ural Mountains are a mountain range in southern Russia, a large region in the north of Eurasian landmass.

Covenant activity in Eastern Europe had increased over the past few days and we had lost contact with the two spartan-III teams; Scimitar and Stiletto respectively, which had been operating in the area. My team had been one of three operating in New Mombasa, which was the largest amount of spartan-IIIs in one place, so it was one of us who would be chosen for the upcoming mission. As it turned out, HighCom had seen fit to send Team Rapier in to investigate Scimitar and Stiletto's disappearance.

And now, after a nice and comfy pelican ride, we had been dropped into Vodka Outpost, a small UNSC establishment nestled in a small gorge between two large mountains. It comprised of a subterranean recreational and residential section, an operations center, and a COM tower; the only part of the outpost that was above the ground. We had gone out on recon patrols for the first few days, but were now snowed in by a large blizzard. HighCom had told us that the local militia would arrive to provide assistance, but Fate would prevent their arrival until today.

In the meantime, I lounged in the recreational section of the outpost, sluggishly flipping through a book I found in one of the lockers for the umpteenth time. Just as I was starting to drift off into sleep, Robin sauntered in with a large smile on his face. "Guess what I found?"

"Well, since LSD is probably the one thing that could force a person to _smile_ in a time and place like this and because I know you're definitely _not_ a druggie….you officially have me stumped," I yawned.

Robin reached into his pocket and, with a flourish, drew out a deck of cards.

I could barely contain the excited laughter that bubbled out. Cards, while somewhat lacking in the eye-popping spectacular department, meant activity—something to _do_; activity had been an unheard of concept ever since the blizzard had snowed us in four days ago.

Robin and I pulled over a table and a couple of chairs. As I sat down and started to cut the deck, Tyrone wandered into the rec section. He took one look at us and our deck of cards and pulled up a chair faster than either of us could blink. "Aight, boys, how're we doin' this?"

"Five-card draw, deuce is wild. The usual," I answered.

Tyrone cocked an eyebrow in surprise. "You serious? You forget that I'm undefeated in five-card draw?"

"Poker's a game of chance, my fearless leader," Robin pointed out, "you never know which way the winds of Fate may decide to blow."

Tyrone glanced at Robin in utter bewilderment. "What the hell was that? You rehearse that in front of a mirror?"

"I got bored."

"Never mind—let's just deal, preferably _before_ the end of the war."

I took the hint and finished shuffling, dealing five cards to each of us. We all picked up our hands, scrutinizing them carefully. My hand had a two of diamonds, eight of spades, eight of hearts, ten of spades, and nine of clubs. A two-pair at best. I studied my friends' expressions. They excelled at many things that have resulted in the deaths of quite a few Covenant, but one skill they somewhat lacked in was maintaining a poker face. As we traded some of our cards in I could see the faint, telltale twitches of the forehead and mouth that signified mild disappointment. I ended up getting an eight of diamonds for my nine which, when combined with the other cards, made a full house. My heart leaped in anticipation. _I have you now,_ I murmured under my breath.

"Show 'em?" I suggested.

"No—wait—" Ty murmured.

I smiled wolfishly. "You have to show no matter what, might as well get the shame and humiliation of finally being toppled over with quickly."

"Uh…how about we do minorities last," Tyrone settled back and crossed his arms.

Robin laid out a baby straight, but my full house topped it. Ty stalled for another minute until he finally wavered. "Uhh—alright—I had a—"

Suddenly, the entrance to the outpost flew open with a bang and the sounds of feet and voices echoed down the hallways.

"Ah, damn, I guess we'll _never_ know what I had," Ty lamented as he gathered up the cards and gave them back to Robin.

Sam and Em, looking as if they'd just been rudely jerked awake, clambered out of the dormitories at the same time the newcomers tramped into the rec section. They were a group of around twelve men clad in fur-lined helmets, protective face-gear, and old UNSC Marine Corps battle armor from at least thirty years ago. They made themselves at home, plopping onto the couches and taking off their helmets, complaining about the weather and praising the heated interior of Vodka Outpost.

When they pulled off their head-ware I was nearly shocked to see not the faces of green, wet-behind-the-ears young men which made up the bulk of any militia, but the older, lined faces of war-torn and battle-seasoned veterans in their sixties and seventies. The oldest of them, a seventy-five year-old man with thin gray hair, soft blue eyes laden with laughter-lines, a crooked nose, and a short grayish-white beard, stepped over to us and saluted briefly before introducing himself, "Dobro pozhalovat, _welcome, _to the Ural Mountains. I am Lt. Pavel Tikhonov, and these are my men," the grizzled old man said with a distinct Slavic accent.

"_You're_ the militia HighCom said would be joining us?" Em asked the Russian man, "We've been stuck here for a week! What the hell kept you?"

The commander of the militia, Tikhonov, gave a faint grin, taking no offence. I knew he probably figured that if our positions had been reversed he'd most likely be just as steamed. "We came here all the way from Kiev, our base of operations, and were delayed by the weather. What you have to understand is that there is no real militia on this planet anymore. All who used to be in the militia were recruited into the Corps. My men and I, we are old lions; veterans of the old battles back when the war had only just started. HighCom knows we can still fight as well as we did back then, but we are too old to legally still be in the Corps; so we were designated as 'militia' to give us an excuse to still aim and fire weapons at any Covie we see while not breaking any legalities."

I knew that these men must have already been seasoned veterans of the Marine Corps in their later thirties and forties by the time the Battle of Harvest had broken out; marines who had spent the greater part of their service fighting the Insurrectionists beforehand and who were now still fighting as old men. I looked at them with a new respect.

Tikhonov called out to another man in Russian. The indicated man stood up and took his place next to his superior. "And this," Tikhonov gestured to the man he had called; a taller man in his late sixties with salt and pepper hair and a full beard of the same colors as his hair covering the bottom half of his face. His eyes were a hard gray, but they had a fiery spark in them. "This is my oldest friend and second in command; Sergeant Anatoly Zatzaev. We are the ones who formed this squadron and we are also those who lead it," Tikhonov explained.

Zatzaev nodded respectfully, but remained silent. Tikhonov proceeded to introduce the remaining ten veterans in the militia squad. They were all natives of Earth; there was another native Russian, but the rest were from all over. There were a couple of Americans, two Irishmen, two from Buenos Aires, a Chinese man, an Italian, and an Indian. All were veterans of old battles and had their fair share of stories to tell, but now was neither the time nor place for reminiscence.

Tikhonov ordered his men to the dormitories to rest up for the upcoming days. After they all filed out he and Zatzaev relaxed and pulled over another table, joining it to the first one, and sitting down, gesturing for us to do the same. Sam sat down next to me and Em at the last open space at the head of the two tables. "So," the lieutenant got the conversation going, "you must be Team Rapier. I must apologize for my ignorance of the nature of our presence here; HighCom never did and still does not seem to enjoy _explaining_ these missions beforehand."

"Wait until you deal with ONI," I grumbled.

Ty reached over and shook Tikhonov's hand. "I'm Tyrone-G083, and I'm in charge of Team Rapier."

"G083?" Zatzaev raised an eyebrow, "Numbers for last names; you must be spartans.'

"Guilty," Ty grinned, "We were sent here to investigate the disappearance of two other spartan-III teams like us. They were Scimitar and Sti—"

"Scimitar and Stiletto, we know," Zatzaev finished Ty's sentence.

"We encountered those individuals in Kiev," Tikhonov explained, "They dropped into the city from orbit just as the Covenant attacked our defenses at the Dnieper River. They had already taken the western half of the city and our lines at the east bank of the river were beginning to crumble when your comrades dropped in. A large Marathon-class cruiser with went to ground later and deployed an armored brigade. With their combined support, we were able to cross the river and secure a foothold."

"Those two spartan-III teams were pulled from the battle and sent east…which would lead straight to these mountains, so I suppose it now makes sense why we were sent here," Zatzaev concluded.

"We lost contact with them over a week ago while they were here, in the Ural Mountains. Any ideas where they might have gone?" Em asked.

Tikhonov and Zatzaev spoke with each other in muted Russian tones for a few seconds. They seemed to come to a decision and straightened up. "We believe they may have been lost in Sector 54, which we have recently detected Covenant activity in," Tikhonov explained, "Sector 54 comprises of several things, but the only relevant feature is a large valley in which the Covenant forces were concentrated. They seemed to be digging for something; your comrades must have been sent in to divine what those Covies were so interested in."

"Well, New Mombasa and Kiev seem to be the two major places where the Covenant have made their presence known. Maybe they tie into each other," Sam guessed.

Tikhonov's forehead wrinkled in a frown. "New what? That name sounds familiar..."

"New Mombasa, Kenya; that's where we were fighting before we came here," Robin clarified for the Russian veteran.

"I'm afraid we have some bad news," Zatzaev sighed, "New Mombasa is gone. Destroyed."

"_What?!_" we all shouted at once,"How could—"

"Peace!" Tikhonov raised his voice, silencing us, "I do not know the full details. All we heard in Kiev was that a Covenant Assault Carrier executed a slipstream space jump right above the city—the blast destroyed New Mombasa."

"That can't be," Sam argued, "It's impossible to enter slipspace in a gravity well."

"It's impossible with _our_ technology…" Em speculated, mulling it over in her mind, "but the Covenant most likely have the means to do so."

"What about all of the marines we had in the city…did they—" Ty started to ask, but was silenced by a gesture from Tikhonov.

"Most of the marines in New Mombasa had advanced over the strait and into Old Mombasa by the time the blast occurred—if you had friends there, they are most likely still alive," the lieutenant explained. As he finished talking Zatzaev cleared his throat inaudibly, prompting Tikhonov to check his watch, an old antique 20th century silver Rolex. The old lieutenant took a deep breath and yawned. "It's past one in the morning. Conditions tomorrow should be favorable for a patrol to Sector 54, so we should all get some sleep. I'm afraid you will have to sleep more than one in a room because of my men, but I have a feeling that won't be a problem."

I could have sworn he had been looking at Sam and me when he said that last bit. The two of us shared a glance, both of us thinking _how did he know?!_ This past week Sam and I had been trying to get a room together, but Tyrone had been on our case ever since, bluntly telling us that he'd let us _know_ when he wanted a sudden sixth teammate.

We all stood and filed out into the residential corridor with dormitories on either side. Two rooms remained after Tikhonov and Zatzaev entered theirs. Ty took one look at Sam and I walking into one of the rooms and immediately said, "Oh, hell no. Alex, you're comin' in with—"

"Let us room together and I'll forget about our earlier poker match's _actual_ outcome," I offered my team leader.

I'd like to think Tyrone really mulled it over before, ignoring Em and Robin's suppressed laughter, he instantly replied, "Done! Get your asses in there."


	9. Chapter 8: War Creates Great Men

Chapter Eight: War Creates Great Men

**0500 Hours, October 31, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Earth, Sol System**

**Ural Mountains, Russia**

**Spartan III Alex-G004**

Sam and I were already awake and slipping into our ODST armor by the time Tyrone knocked on our door to rouse us. The blizzard had abated outside, leaving the ground covered in at least three feet of snow. Even though the storm was finally finished, we still dressed in extra layers to accommodate the still-cold temperatures. As we sealed out helmets, I grabbed my SRS99D and Sam her BR55. Geared up and armed, we joined our comrades in the hallway and headed into the rec section, where Tyrone, Lt. Tikhonov, Sgt. Zatzaev were waiting for all of us. They were all leaning in close to each other, discussing the upcoming operation. Noticing us, they straightened and called for silence.

"Gentlemen," Tikhonov cleared his throat, "we are going on a reconnaissance patrol to Sector 54. Luckily," he turned to a map of the Ural Mountains that was on the wall behind him and pointed to a spot on it not too far away from Vodka Outpost, "Sector 54 is not that far from here; a six-hour leg at the most."

"We're investigating the disappearance of two teams of spartans that we believe are in that sector," Tyrone explained.

Tikhonov nodded and concluded the impromptu briefing by saying, "We have been receiving reports of Covenant activity in Sector 54, so be ready for _anything_. Alvaréz," he turned to a tan, balding old Hispanic man with a thin white mustache, one of his corporals, "I'm taking Sergeant Zatzaev with me; I want you to take command of his fireteam and guard this outpost. I don't want to return to find any unwelcome guests waiting for us."

"Sir," Alvaréz nodded.

Tikhonov had to clear up a few more things, but before I knew it we were stepping through the outpost's entrance into the now-manageable cold of the Ural Mountains. There was no wind, just thick gray clouds in the sky and a blanket of white snow dotted with the telltale gray peaks of resilient rocks, covering the landscape between the trees. Corporal Alvaréz and five other men, half the militia squad, remained behind. The rest was accompanying my team as guides and hopefully-unnecessary fire support. This being a reconnaissance op, if all went to plan, fire support would be unnecessary. But if a fully fleshed out, flawless plan was a healthy human body, our current plan would be a bare skeleton with a few muscles. Ops never went according to plan.

Neither would this one.

I struck up a conversation with O'Keefe, an old Irish veteran who held an old SRS99B model sniper rifle. Turns out he had been the lone survivor of his unit during the Battle of Alpha Aurigae early on in the war and had been commissioned as a sniper afterwards. Ever since, he had been attached to many units in many more battles as an independent sniper-support unit, providing his assigned marines cover from behind as they fought on the front lines or advanced.

I was by far the better sniper; that's not me being arrogant or anything, that's just stating fact. Our augmentation process back on Onyx had 'improved' us in quite a few ways; one of those ways had been fiddling with our brains or sensory thingy-ma-bobbers to give us superior reflexes. We could react to something roughly five times faster than a normal man, and a perk like that was irreplaceable in long-distance fighting. Even so, O'Keefe had been sniping far longer than I have, so I was still able to learn a few interesting aiming techniques and new custom rifle-compositions from him. I had already learned everything I needed on Onyx to make me exceptional, but learning from O'Keefe was comparable to interviewing a veteran of a war to get a primary-source account instead of reading about that same war in a textbook.

The day grew brighter as we forged on, plowing a path through the snow. It occurred to me that if we were ever compromised during this op, our tracks would lead any Covenant search parties straight to Vodka Outpost. All the more reason to pray that nothing went wrong during our little excursion to Sector 54. We walked around and over the slopes of the mountain whose side Vodka Outpost was dug into for several hours before climbing several thousand feet to cross to the adjacent mountain via a natural rock bridge. On the next mountain, which was between Vodka Outpost's mountain and the objective valley in Sector 54, we had to descend a bit to avoid some high cliffs that would have impeded our progress, but then we had to traverse several shoulders in the mountain; three in all. We were just starting to descend the third shoulder when Sector 54 came into sight.

"Keep it quiet from now on," Tikhonov ordered us. We activated our personal COM units, set them on a secure channel, and fell silent as we moved on. Eventually we neared the edge of the cliffs that formed the side of our target valley. We placed ourselves on an outcropping that jutted out beyond the rest of the cliff, giving us a view of the cliff we were on as well as the rest of the valley. We all went prone and shimmied our way to the very edge and peered down.

The valley was crawling with Covenant. Hundreds of grunts and jackals were encamped all over the valley floor, milling around or standing idle and checking their weapons. Dozens of brutes also encamped in the valley, but they did so in groups, set apart from their subordinate races. Interesting as the Covenant encampments were, what really caught our eyes was the far wall of the valley. The Covenant had dug rather deep into it and now the cliff faces revealed a large set of purplish-gray doors maybe forty feet high. It must have been a Forerunner complex, though to actually find one _here_ on Earth was pretty weird, putting it mildly. The doors were currently open and teams of Huragok, the mysterious race of Covenant us humans called Engineers, who did not seem to care about anything other than fixing objects, were floating in and out of them. Beyond the doors we couldn't really see, but we could tell that something important must have been behind them; otherwise the Covenant would not be here in such force.

"You guys smell that?" Em hissed over the COM.

I sniffed the air for any unusual scent. I could still smell through my helmet; my helmet had air filters that could be utilized to filter anything bad out of the air, but more often than not I left it off. I had always been taught to be _aware_ of the environment—you never know when any one of your senses would come in handy, so neutralizing one of my five basic bodily senses wouldn't exactly be considered being _aware_. I wrinkled my nose, recognizing the smell; a metallic scent similar to ozone. The scent I noticed wasn't an unusual one; we had all smelled it too much already.

"Plasma discharge," Townsend, one of Tikhonov's veterans, observed, "there was a battle here."

"A _recent_ battle," Robin clarified, "that smell doesn't hang in the air for very long. Twenty-four hours, tops."

"Alex, O'Keefe, do a sweep over the valley floor and sides; look for concentrated plasma scoring on the rocks," Tikhonov ordered.

The old Irish sharpshooter and I unslung our sniper rifles, adjusted our sights, and began to do a thorough scan of the valley. I came across several spots of plasma scoring, but nothing concentrated. They were probably just stray shots, or accidental bursts from nervous, trigger-happy grunts. I finished my sweep of the far side of the valley and began one of the cliffs _we_ were on when O'Keefe reported over the COM that he had found something. "To our left, roughly three klicks distant and down," he whispered. I crawled over to his position on the other side of the outcropping and observed the indicated area. It was a large pile of rock formations perfect for mounting a ranged assault and, sure enough, there were a myriad of plasma burns and scores covering that area.

Zatzaev observed the hot-spot as well and reported it to Tikhonov, who nodded grimly. "This means good news and bad news. The good news: we were correct in believing that your missing teams were in Sector 54, those plasma burns prove that they _were_ here. The bad news: those plasma burns mean they came under fire and engaged the Covenant. The two facts that there is no longer any fight occurring and that there are no visible tracks leading out of the valley besides our own lead to the conclusion that your friends _lost_ their fight."

I sighed and swore under my breath. I could sense my teammates doing the same. The loss of any Spartan was hard to bear, but two whole teams? I had to be certain. "We should investigate that hot-spot," I said.

I heard several intakes of breath over the COM. "Are you insane?" Tyrone said over the channel, "How can we possibly get down there without being spotted?"

"What do you mean _we?_" I retorted, "_You'd_ get spotted faster than a Hunter at a birthday party. Send me and Sam down alone. She's the scout, I'm the sharpshooter; we both are exceptional in stealth movement."

As Tyrone mulled it over and considered his options, I pushed him further, "Ty, this is as close as we're gonna get. It's now or never. We'll probably never find out what happened to Scimitar and Stiletto if we don't investigate _now_ while the trail is lukewarm."

Tyrone sighed and nodded in agreement. "It's done. Sam, keep a leash on him. I want to know what happened to Scimitar and Stiletto just as much as you do, but not at the cost of getting killed ourselves. What good are we to Humanity KIA?"

Sam nodded, "Got it. Common, Ace, let's go for a walk," she grabbed me by the shoulder and we moved away from the rest of our force. We moved along the edge of the cliffs for a couple kilometers until we found a spot where the cliffs broke into a less-sharp slope which could be descended easily. It was probably the result of an old landslide.

I swept through the area between us and the rock formation hot-spot. The slopes were rough and rocky with many clumps of large boulders and outcroppings. Our best way to get there unseen would have to be moving under the cover of those boulders and outcroppings. I contacted O'Keefe and told him to watch our back.

Sam and I slid down to the first boulder, hunkering down behind it. We then jumped to the next boulder, then the next, and then the next; timing it with the patrols. Occasionally O'Keefe would come in over the COM and warn us about a stray jackal or grunt that didn't move with the patrol and would have discovered us. Once, Sam had to quietly take care of a grunt that had strayed too close by slitting its throat with her combat knife and hiding it behind the rocks.

We drew near to our objective and sped up, trying not to let our luck run out too soon. With one last sprint, we reached the plasma-scored rock cluster. Sam and I paused after reaching safety to listen to any possible alarms that would have broken out if we'd been spotted. When no alarm came, we relaxed a bit and began to check through the area. The rock formation was very large; it was set into the steep slope of the valley's side and had several layers of rock which people could walk on and between. The main part of it was a flattish shelf at the top with boulders lining the edge; an ideal natural defense.

Sam remained at the bottom, clearing the rest of the formation while I made my way to the top. I was hoping to find a clue or trace as to where my fellow spartans had gone, but I got _way_ much more than I bargained for. I pulled myself up onto the top, but nearly fell right back down after I took in the sight. My heart grew heavy and felt like it nearly stopped. "Oh, Jesus…" I whispered to myself.

"What is it?" Tyrone asked over the COM. I must have whispered louder than I thought.

With a heavy voice, I reported to the rest of my comrades what I was looking at. The bodies of five sixteen-year-old spartan-IIIs clad in full ODST armor, like me, were sprawled out on the rock, riddled with plasma burns and brute spiker-rounds.

Ty swore over the COM furiously, and then took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. "Alright, Alex, mark them and get back here."

I examined one of the bodies, particularly the helmet. I could make out the curved blade of a scimitar on the sides of the helmet. As bad as this was, it made me think. If Team Scimitar was lying dead here, then where was Team Stiletto? There was no sign of them anywhere close-by. I took the dog tags of each spartan and checked their bio-signs before accessing my HUD and listing them as KIA. I moved to the last body and examined it. It was James-G173, Scimitar's team leader. He hadn't been hit as much as the others, but that made him no less painful to look at. I checked his bio-signs as I grabbed his dog tags. I frowned and checked them again; they were registering…very, _very_ faint, but they were still registering…

My eyes widened. I removed the gauntlet covering his right hand and checked his pulse. Hey, when you didn't trust technology it always paid off to do it the good old-fashioned way. Sure enough, there was a faint and irregular pulse beating in there. "Team leader, this is Eagle-Eye, I've found a survivor! It's James; he's been severely wounded and is in need of immediate medical attention!" I whisper-shouted into the COM. There was no response, only static. _Strange…_

I tried the COM again without success. Just as I was beginning to have second thoughts, I heard a scuffling sound down below. My COM squawked and I caught a choked scream. I also could faintly hear it nearby. "Sam?" I tried the COM again, "Sam, do you read me?"

Still nothing.

I called out Sam's name without the COM as loud as I could without alerting any nearby Covenant, but the only answer I received was more scuffling. "Damn it...." I breathed, unslinging my sniper rifle and slowly heading down to the bottom of the rock formation. I called for Sam again as I rounded the corner and ended up coming face-to-face with a particularly large violet-armored brute captain. He had Sam by her throat and was holding her in mid-air, slowly squeezing the life out of her. He turned to me, giving out a surprised growl. His hand went for his mauler sidearm, but I brought up my sniper rifle in a flash and, without even aiming through the scope, put a round through the brute's forehead. The brute's head jerked back in a spray of purple blood and his grip on Sam's throat went slack, dropping her to the ground where she gasped for breath.

Even though I had taken the brute out, the sharp report of my SRS99D gave our position away like a large flashing green neon sign with an arrow pointing right at us saying _**'Dinner!**_' As we watched in horror, alarms went off and every single grunt, jackal, and brute in the valley turned to us.

Sam got up and started to say, "Should we—"

"Fuck it, just _run!!!_" I shouted, cutting her off. We returned to the top of the rock formation where Sam slung the comatose James over her shoulder and, together, we made a break for the cliffs. We ran side-by-side, jumping over rocks and depressions and miraculously dodging the storm of enemy fire that slammed into the slopes after us.

As we reached the break in the cliffs which we had come in through and climbed up, I felt the burn of a plasma charge on my right leg, near one of my old wounds from New Mombasa, and a slight pain under my left arm, but I ignored it. We reached the top and continued to sprint back to our old position on the outcropping, where our comrades were already moving. We all met halfway between the two spots and turned west back the way we came, covering up our tracks as we went. After we traversed the last of the three shoulders and had reached the high cliffs we stopped briefly. I heard the faint cracks of a sniper rifle in the distance and frowned before I noticed an absence.

"Where's O'Keefe?!" I exclaimed as I looked around wildly, not seeing the old Irishman.

"He remained at our old position to cover our retreat and try to keep the Covenant bottlenecked at the break in the cliffs you used," Em said.

"That's—but—_how_ can he hope to—" I stuttered, only to be cut off by Sergeant Zatzaev.

"He is sacrificing himself so we can live. Honor him when he passes," the Russian sergeant said gruffly, hiding the emotion inside of him.

Tikhonov called for us to move and we set out once more. I listened to the sharp reports of O'Keefe's sniper rifle get quieter and quieter until I could hear them no longer. I sighed heavily and kept walking.

I don't know if war creates great men, but I _do_ know that it sure can kill them.


	10. Chapter 9: Requiem

Chapter Nine: Requiem

**0200 Hours, November 1, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Earth, Sol System**

**Ural Mountains, Russia**

**Spartan III Alex-G004**

We made it back to Vodka Outpost at roughly seven o' clock at night. Well, _most_ of us made it… Corporal Alvaréz and the other vets who had remained at the outpost had taken O'Keefe's death pretty hard. They ended up drowning their sorrows in a contraband bottle of 25th Century LaFleur brandy. Lt. Tikhonov had tactfully decided looked the other way.

Tikhonov's medical specialist, an elderly Italian man named Giuseppe Mazzino, a somewhat grumpy and eccentric member of the militia squadron, had prepared the outpost's medical bay ahead of time, which turned out to be crucial.

Mazzino had taken James into intensive care the instant we stepped through the door, putting him on a make-shift gurney and inserting an IV into his arm. "Anyone else who's got scrapes will have to wait," he said as he took James into the infirmary. Lightning-fast, the old medic stripped off James' armor and examined his wounds, prodding a plasma burn here and there and observing the numerous spiker rounds embedded in his torso.

He made a tsking noise, shook his head, and kicked everyone out, saying that he needed it quiet and that he'd send for us later when James was stable. As I turned to go he called out my name and ordered me to stay. "You're going to need medical help right after I'm done with your friend, so you might as well stay." When I told him I was fine he merely chuckled and gestured to my left shoulder.

Ever since I had been hit in Sector 54 I had felt a small pain under my left shoulder, but by the time we had made it back to Vodka Outpost the pain had been much worse. When I was standing there in Mazzino's infirmary it felt like someone was shoving a white-hot brand into my side. As Mazzino bent over James and began to remove the brute spiker rounds with uncomfortable squelching sounds, I looked down under my left shoulder. My armor had been mangled enough to reveal at least half a dozen still-glowing purple needler rounds embedded deep into my side. A seventh must have detonated upon impact because the skin was all gone and I could see my bare ribs. All Mazzino had seen was the very edge of the gaping wound, so by the time he was finished with James I had nearly passed out on another stretcher.

He took one look at my shoulder and immediately swore, jumping into action. "_Il mio Dio_, **why** did you not tell me the wound was this serious?! What if you had gone into shock whilst I was occupied!? Lie still! I have to get your armor off, quickly now—" the elderly Italian expertly removed my helmet and armor in less than a minute. He examined the gaping hole in my side once more and tsked again. He had rummaged through a few drawers until he found what he was looking for; a cryo-storage unit containing flash-cloned epidermal tissue used for skin grafts.

As he slowly started to fix me up, I couldn't help but wonder why I had just noticed the wound now. I mean, I'm sure anyone _else_ would have noticed a small chunk of their body missing, but the only thing I had felt when I had been hit had been a small pain, as if I'd been merely pricked. It could have been something to do with the augmentation procedure performed on my company, but there was no mention of super-human pain and shock-ignoring abilities in the augmentations of previous generations of Spartans. Not even a Spartan-II could have taken a hit like that without being incapacitated.

Mazzino had finished with James and me by two in the morning. It had taken him seven hours to completely fix my side; reattaching nerve endings and blood vessels, fixing fractures in the bone, and grafting in flash-cloned muscle-replacements. I had been sedated for most of the operation, and when I woke up it felt as if no time had passed. "James?" I rasped, warming up my voice again.

"He's stable, but won't be conscious until much later," Mazzino told me, "You spartans are made of tougher materialé than normal men. You, on the other hand, are fine. Try not to ruin my handiwork in any of your future battles; I'm particularly proud of it." And that was it. He continued to monitor James as I got up and left the infirmary.

I found myself wandering through the rec room. I passed several veterans, Sam, Tyrone, and Em playing an intense game of blackjack. Sam looked up at me, but I kept going, crossing through to the residential corridor. I trudged down to my room and stepped in, going straight to the bed. I yawned and peeled off my grimy combat fatigues. I kept my boxers and slipped under the covers.

I couldn't sleep at all. As I lay there, all of yesterday's events crashed upon my mind like an incoming tide on a sea cliff. The deaths of the four fellow spartans in Team Scimitar and that of O'Keefe really hit me hard. I had worked and fought with those spartans for a _decade_ and the fact that they were now _gone_ was a hard concept to grasp. O'Keefe was just as bad; here was an old veteran who had fought through and survived the entire war, only to die _now_ because of a particular brute captain's curiosity.

It wasn't fair.

I was so engrossed in thought that I barely noticed when Sam climbed into bed beside me. "Can't sleep?" she asked me.

I grunted in reply, saying nothing.

Sam rolled over onto her side to face me and said, "Ace, you have to find a way to let them go. If you don't, this war will eat you alive."

"How do _you_ do it?"

Sam smiled and leaned in close. "I think about the things in life that are worth living for," she answered matter-of-factly as she kissed me on the side of my face, "things that would no longer exist of the Covenant ever won. I would slaughter billions before I let those things die."

I didn't feel any better about Scimitar's and O'Keefe's deaths, but at least I knew I'd be able to move on. Maybe that's what _all_ people who lost those whom they were close to felt; you never really got over the losses, you just learned to live with them.

Sam kissed me again and this time I returned it. We both moved into a more comfortable position and…well I could honestly say that night was one of the best nights I'd ever had the honor of living long enough to experience. We were both in dreary moods since Sector 54 and it just kind of…happened. Ironically, in the end, we proved Tyrone's misgivings about allowing us to room together to be _justified_ misgivings. But, in the spirit of keeping the peace, what Ty didn't know wouldn't hurt him. At least, that was my mindset after I thought it through.

Late the next morning, when I woke up, I felt as normal as any other morning; tired and having a feeling of passive acceptance of whatever the rest of day had to throw at me. Then I noticed the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed and it all came rushing back to me. "Oh no—" I moaned, flopping back onto my pillow and rousing Sam in the process, "oh no, oh _no_, _oh_ _no!"_

"Who put panic pills in _your_ morning orange juice?" Sam mumbled as she woke herself up.

"Are you kidding me?! We—last night—we just—oh God, this is _not_ good—"

"Why?" she asked me, cocking an eyebrow curiously.

That caught me off-guard; the day Sam would ask a stupid question like that would be the day a brute would dress up as a clown and make balloon-animals for toddlers. The one possible solution was that somehow it was not a stupid question.

"What do you mean, 'why'?!" I exploded, "We just violated every PDA regulation—no, _violate_ doesn't do it justice; sending them through a wood-chipper and shitting on them would be a better description—if anyone finds out about this, we could be—"

"The solution is simple; we don't," Sam gave a mock-gasp, "_tell_ anyone. What Ty doesn't know won't hurt him."

I took a few deep breaths and calmed myself. I thought it through clearly and decided that, what the heck, she was right. No one needs to know our deepest and darkest secrets.

We rolled out of bed and got dressed into our combat fatigues. Once we were decent, we left our room and entered the rec section in time to run into Tyrone, who told us that Doc Mazzino had said that James was conscious. The old Italian medic had thought it a good idea to have fellow spartans in the room with him while he gave Ty and Tikhonov his 'report'.

We gathered the rest of our team and met in the infirmary. Doc Mazzino stood outside. "Your friend is stable and conscious. He doesn't know anything of the aftermath of his battle, so be careful how you fill in the gaps for him. Good luck," Mazzino nodded to us and let us in.

James was sitting upright in a recovery bed, taking sips out of a steaming bowl of soup of some kind. He raised his head to acknowledge us when we all came in. "Ty? That you? Good, I haven't gone crazy in these mountains yet…"

"Perhaps _you_ should be the ones to ask the questions," Tikhonov discreetly murmured to Tyrone, "He responds to you."

Ty nodded and took his place at the side of the bed, sitting on a handy stool. "James, we need to know what happened on—"

"They're all dead, aren't they? My team?" James interrupted.

"Yes," Ty said, offering him a quick and direct answer.

James sighed heavily and pushed the bowl of soup aside, laying back on his pillows. "I thought so…but I had my hopes that—that—" he broke off, staring out into space.

I knew he was going through one of the worst Hells imaginable. To lose your entire team, who had been family for ten years ever since our arrival on Onyx, would be unbearable.

"James, we _need_ to know what happened in Sector 54. We found you and your comrades, but Team Stiletto is still missing," Tyrone continued firmly, "What happened to them?"

James dragged himself back to reality and cleared his throat, beginning to recount the events he had been a part of before we found him. "Stiletto and my team dropped into Kiev when we were all deployed. Kiev, as it turned out, was—and still is—the greatest red zone on Earth besides Africa. We managed to push the Covies back across the Dnieper River…" he gazed at Lt. Tikhonov with a look of faint recognition in his eyes, but he turned back to Tyrone and continued his report. "The battle was going well, but HighCom ordered my team and Adam's to a location further to the east; here. We were told to investigate Sector 54. Stiletto went in first and we were their support. Somehow, a firefight broke out and Stiletto was trapped. We reached the cliffs in time to see them get overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Grunts, jackals, brutes; they all swarmed them. They didn't kill Stiletto, though, they managed to capture them and put them unconscious."

All of us saw a ray of hope; there was a chance that the other missing team was still alive!

"Did you see _where_ they took them?" Robin asked the former team leader.

James nodded. "There was…a door of some sorts in the valley wall that the Covenant had dug up. They were taken in there. My team and I…we couldn't follow. We had engaged the Covenant from an easily defendable location—a rock formation—to ease the pressure on Stiletto, but it did them—and us—no good. After they captured Stiletto they turned to us and unloaded _everything_ they had. They took us out one at a time; I remember Sarah and Gary going down before I took a beam rifle shot to the chest. Next thing I know, I'm waking up here."

Tikhonov nodded, satisfied. "That should do. Doc, make sure he rests."

Mazzino produced a syringe from an inside pocket and inserted it into James' IV drip, injecting the clear liquid into his circulatory system.

James felt the sedatives almost instantly. "Wait!" he jerked up and, fighting the drowsiness, managed to say, "As Stiletto was captured…we picked up…Covenant transmission," he shook his head and blinked several times, trying to stay conscious, "said to…to capture Stiletto…that _it_ would be ready in…three days…then....they'll kill them—" James's words slurred and he settled back onto his pillow.

"_What_ will be ready in three days?" Ty asked James, who gave a grunt and several inaudible words before his eyes closed. "James!" Tyrone exclaimed right in the other boy's face, but it was too late; he was asleep. "_Damn it all…_" he muttered under his breath.

"He will wake in 24 hours, plenty of time for you all to create a battle-plan," Mazzino said, "God-willing, he should also be fit for duty by then."

We all remained where we stood, thinking about James's last words. An idea came into my head and, as I thought enough about it, it began to make sense.

"Well, those Covenant were _ordered_ to capture, not kill, Stiletto—that much we know," I stated. My teammates nodded; the cogs of their minds starting to turn. "We all know the Covenant are interested in that Forerunner complex we saw in Sector 54. We also know that we, humans, are the only ones who can use and activate Forerunner technology."

"So that could explain why they wanted to capture Stiletto rather than just kill them," Robin deduced, "They probably wanted Adam and his boys to act as Reclaimers and activate whatever's in that installation."

"Then why not just take one of them and kill the rest?" Em asked.

"Simple; if that _one_ were to die, what then? With _five_ tools, if one breaks there will always be others to take its place, just in case," Tikhonov explained, "It's simple logic."

Tyrone cleared his throat and massaged his forehead for a second. "Is that what James meant—it's the _installation_ that would be ready for use in three days?"

"If it is, then we have only one and a half days left," Sam finished.

"Then we must hurry," Tikhonov declared suddenly. When we gave him questioning glances, he asked us a rhetorical question that really should have occurred to us instantly, "Once your comrades are forced to activate whatever is in the installation, what further use will the Covenant have for them?"

Tyrone nodded in agreement. "Get your boys together, Lieutenant, _all_ of them. I have no intentions of losing five _more_ spartans on my watch, so we have some planning to do."


	11. Chapter 10: If at First You Dont Succeed

Chapter Ten: If at First You Don't Succeed…

**1900 Hours, November 2, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Earth, Sol System**

**Ural Mountains, Russia**

**Spartan III Alex-G004**

I kept my breathing down to a minimum. There was no way the Covenant forces in the valley below could possibly hear it, but it had become pure habit over the years.

After many hours of preparation and planning I found myself back on the very same outcropping in Sector 54 that my team and I had taken a position on the last time we had been here, two days ago. We had set out from Vodka Outpost several hours ago when James was able to walk. _All_ of us had set out; we hadn't left any of the militia veterans behind at the outpost. We would need _everyone_ for this op.

The Covenant in the valley had obviously gotten some reinforcements recently since our last skirmish because they now had an anti-air battery and several wraith tanks. I felt a strange sense of satisfaction that they thought they needed weapons as powerful as that just for us…how nice…

The clouds had yet to break, resulting in a premature twilight when it would normally still be light after sunset. I steadied my breathing and leveled my sniper rifle, centering my crosshairs on a lucky brute captain's helmeted cranium, but kept my trigger finger in check after Tyrone ordered us over the COM to hold our fire until he gave the order to engage.

"Tempest-Eight-Five, this is Sierra-83, what's your status, over?" Tyrone broadcasted via the TeamCOM to another recipient.

My COM squawked and a new voice, that of a female pilot with a loud din in the background, crackled into existence. "This is Tempest-Eight-Five, we are in the air and approaching your position; ETA: eight minutes."

"Acknowledged, Eight-Five," Ty killed the open channel and returned to the secure one, "We're gonna have to move fast. If the longswords arrive before we take out that anti-air battery, they'll be blown out of the sky. Em, are you set?"

I redirected my aim and gazed through my scope at the rock formation where I had found Team Scimitar's corpses. I could make out Em's shape next to two M165 demolition charges, waiting for her orders. "Now and always," she answered.

I heard Ty take another breath and say, "Yellow light: engage."

I looked up and saw several veterans posted at places on the cliffs prime and hurl a dozen captured Covenant plasma grenades apiece down into the Covenant forces in the valley. The shining blue orbs rained down on the tents and aliens and detonated with devastating results. Another shower of plasma grenades interspersed with standard fragmentation grenades followed, again with deadly results.

The hundreds of Covenant in the valley reacted fast to the explosion, overcoming the initial panic and scanning the cliff edges to determine where the grenades had come from.

"Green light: engage," Tyrone ordered.

The veterans and my teammates stationed along the cliff's edge opened fire on the Covenant, ripping through their outer lines with well-placed bursts. The M41 LAAG we had lugged from Vodka Outpost also growled to life, spitting death into the aliens at 550 12.7x99mm armor-piercing rounds per minute. I squeezed the trigger and watched the brute captain I had been trailing get flung into the ground by the force of the depleted uranium round tearing through its skull.

The Covenant regrouped and took cover, returning fire. Brutes, grunts, and jackals in the other areas of the valley streamed towards the firefight to assist their comrades.

I peered through my sniper scope and took out several more higher-ranking brutes to promote chaos in the enemy ranks until I heard Tyrone order Em to move once the Covenant between her and the AA battery had moved off further down the valley. I watched Em pick up the two heavy ordinance charges and break cover, sprinting into the Covenant encampments.

"Five minutes!" Tikhonov warned over the COM, keeping a steady eye on the time.

The wraith tanks turned and began to fire their ordinance at the cliffs, forcing several of the veterans to take cover and avoid being atomized by the plasma bolts.

"James, Robin, get down there and help Em; she's gonna need cover while she sets the charges!" Ty shouted over the explosions and gunfire. The two indicated spartans sprang to their feet and sprinted towards the break in the cliffs.

I traced Em as she continued towards the AA battery. Twice she had to drop her charges and fight off charging grunts and brutes, but the rest of the time I kept her path and sides relatively clear. Robin and James joined her as she reached the base of the AA battery. I saw her yell something at them, then sprint back towards the rock formations where she had lain in wait. Robin and James each grabbed a charge and began to scale the nearest support leg of the battery. Back at the rock formations, Em grabbed her Jackhammer rocket launcher and returned to the AA battery.

"One minute! Hurry it up, Em!" Ty yelled urgently.

Robin and James hauled themselves onto the main deck of the AA battery and deployed the charges. That done, they proceeded to slaughter all of the jackal sharpshooters that had been stationed there. Em reached the battery a few seconds later, slinging her Jackhammer across her back and climbing up to join her comrades. As they provided covering fire, she armed the heavy charges.

"Fifteen seconds, Em, _blow the damn thing!_" Tyrone shouted.

"Standby—" Em responded. She input several final commands and started the timers. I listened carefully and heard the growing sound of rapidly approaching aircraft. _Come on…_ I thought to myself. Em, James, and Robin all jumped off of the platform and ran for cover.

A squadron of seven longsword fighters appeared over the horizon. They flew at low altitude in a wedge formation.

Sensing the inbound fighters, the AA battery's cannon turned to the west and acquired its targets. The cannon glowed green, then white, as it warmed up and started to fire. Just as the first telltale flashes of the plasma bolt flared into existence the charges detonated and the entire top half of the AA battery was consumed in an inferno of white fire and smoke.

Unhindered and unthreatened, the squadron of longswords swooped in and released their payloads into the valley before pulling up and breaking off. A rain of explosions ripped through the Covenant's lines, killing the majority. It had been a good thing that the Covenant forces had been compact and clumped together, otherwise the air strike's effects would not have been as spectacular.

"This is Tempest-Eight-Five; mission accomplished, returning to base. Good luck, over," the lead female pilot said in farewell as the longswords turned and vanished into the western horizon.

Around one hundred Covenant and the wraith tanks still remained, and they continued to return fire and put up resistance. The annihilation of most of the Covenant forces proved to be invaluable, but the survivors were still every bit as dangerous as they had been before. Ty, Sam, and the veterans regrouped at the break in the cliffs, which by now we had named the 'Postern', and descended into the valley to prevent the Covenant from overrunning Em, Robin, and James.

I turned towards the wraiths and systematically took out all of their turret-operators, ceasing the streams of plasma-fire that had come from them. A blazing rocket from Em's Jackhammer streaked through the air and slammed into one of the wraiths' plasma mortars. The ensuing explosion temporarily illuminated the whole valley. Another wraith met the same fate as Em emptied the Jackhammer's second tube.

"Alex, we need ya down here pronto!" Tyrone said to me over the COM, "We're gonna be storming the Forerunner complex once we clear a path to its entrance."

"Acknowledged," I responded. I took a deep breath and finally centered in on the jackal sniper who had been giving me trouble for the past five minutes and loosed off a final shot into its skull. I stood, slamming a new mag into my sniper rifle and moving off. I sprinted all the way over to the Postern and descended into the valley, joining my comrades behind the cover of several boulders. Em had reloaded her Jackhammer by then and was acquiring a new target while the rest of the veterans and spartans were laying into the grunts and brutes assaulting our line.

I managed to dive for cover in a good spot which was further towards the doors than everyone else, but had greater cover ideal for long-range combat. I dug in and began to take out several more jackal snipers and brute commanders.

After a minute or so Sam managed to duck under the enemy hail of fire and somersault over next to me, laying into the grunts with her BR55, taking them down with precise headshots. Robin attempted to follow but almost got skewered by a shower of spiker rounds, forcing him back into cover.

We had remained locked in this stalemate for at least ten minutes before I heard Tyrone swear suddenly. "Shit, the doors!" The doors of the Forerunner installation in the valley wall suddenly were slowly closing. Once they sealed there would be _no_ getting in.

"Take your team and get in that installation!" Lt. Tikhonov called out to Tyrone, "_We'll_ handle the forces out here!"

James broke cover and darted out towards us, but the others were again forced back. I motioned to the nearby Forerunner doors with my head and Sam nodded. Together, we sprang to our feet and sprinted as fast as we could towards the nearly-closed entrance. Miraculously, neither of us was hit. We reached the entrance and dove inside just as a plasma grenade detonated somewhere behind us. We turned in time to see James get thrown in front of the now-barely open doors by the force of that grenade. I grabbed his shoulders and hauled him inside just as the doors shut and sealed.

I picked myself up off the ground and gazed down the long corridor towards the door at the end.

Stiletto was in here somewhere…


	12. Chapter 11: Deafeningly Stealthy

Chapter Eleven: Deafeningly Stealthy

**2000 Hours, November 2, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Earth, Sol System**

**Ural Mountains, Russia**

**Spartan III Alex-G004**

What was the Forerunner's fascination with the color purple? The inside of the Forerunner installation embedded in the mountainside of a valley in Sector 54 so far comprised of a long corridor with dozens of doors on either side, but everything; the walls, floor, and even the doors, had a purple undertone. Perhaps it was _because_ of the fact that the Forerunners used the color that the majority of Covenant technology is purple. Doesn't exactly win the Covenant any originality points, but we all knew that the Covenant were _imitative,_ not _innovative._ They had the technology, but they lacked the innovation to improve upon it. Quite unlike the Forerunners.

James, Sam, and I had been sealed in here when the entrance doors had unexpectedly closed during the fight outside. The rest of our strike force had been unable to reach us in time to get inside as well, leaving the rest of the mission up to the three of us.

I helped James to his feet and dusted off his back. I noticed several plasma scorings on his lower back and legs, but he merely grunted and shrugged his shoulders when I mentioned them. "Kind of difficult to make them all pay with every ounce of blood in their bodies for killing my team while being locked outside," he said.

Sam stood up as well and glanced down the corridor in front of us. "We should get moving. Stiletto can't have much time left."

_Or it could already be too late,_ I thought, but I decided not to voice the possibility. I slung my rifle across my back and took my MA5C assault rifle instead, which I usually used when we were fighting in close quarters. Either way, sniper rifles are awkward to use in rooms and hallways such as these.

Sam stiffened when we made it about halfway down the corridor. "I'm picking up friendly IFF transponder signals…"

"How many?!" James immediately began spouting questions, "Are they—"

"I can't tell how many—there's too much interference in here—but I can tell that they are at least half a klick ahead and below us. That's got to be Stiletto."

"Then we have to move fast," I urged. The three of us sprinted down the remainder of the corridor to the doorway at the end. It hissed open and revealed a small round room with a bright white beam of light emerging from the center of the purple floor. It was a Forerunner elevator. We all piled inside and closed the door while Sam activated the elevator.

The Forerunner elevators were a wonder of technology; they appeared to move up and down the beam of light without anything propelling them. I figured that they probably used magnetism or something similar, but I couldn't be certain. With a slight lurch, the elevator swiftly began to descend down into the depths of the installation. The trip took no more than ten seconds, but it felt like an eternity. We tightened our grips on our weapons and tensed, ready to obliterate anything on the other side of the door. The elevator slowed and came to a stop, followed by the opening of the door.

A trio of oblivious grunts waiting at the foot of the elevator took in the sight of us with shocked squeals. Sam leaped forward and delivered a powerful blow to the lead grunt's head, caving in its skull, then proceeded to kill the other two with swift and deadly strokes of her combat knife. The grunts were lying in steadily growing pools of their own luminescent blue blood before they could even scream a warning to anything else in the area.

"Not bad for a girl," I whispered.

"Beats hanging back all nice and comfy in the rear with your sniper rifle while the rest of us duke it out face to face," she shot back.

"Hey, you owe me _several_ of your lives because of my 'hanging in the back'."

"Contact!" James shouted as a lone brute lumbered into the room, cutting our argument short. It gave out a surprised growl, but Sam drew a line across its throat with her knife faster than it could react. The brute didn't growl again.

We moved the body out of the doorway and crept out into the next room. Beyond the door was a large room which appeared to be a nexus of corridors; it had three other exits on our level and a couple others on an upper tier.

The room was also filled with sleeping grunts and a snoring brute major.

Still trying to proceed undetected as long as possible, we all drew our combat knifes and set about killing the slumbering aliens in their sleep. Not as painful an end as they all deserved, but it was a small price to pay for keeping our cover intact. After we dropped the last one, Sam directed us into the corridor on the left. Several jackals were standing in a group further on down the hall.

We had no choice but to open fire; we had to drop them before they had a chance to activate their shields. I got two with a short burst from my MA5C while the others were dropped by Sam. One of the jackals had actually survived its wounds and was attempting to crawl away, but James walked up to it, drawing his magnum, and executed it on the spot.

"Something had to have heard that; we have to pick up the pace," James warned as he replaced his magnum back into its holster.

We continued down the hallway, not bothering to move the dead jackals, until Sam led us into a large door on the left, which opened into a room comprising of two flights of stairs made of a transparent material descending a level. The door at the bottom end of the stairs opened into yet another corridor. This one was empty, so we continued without any problems and entered a door on the right, following the transponder signals.

The room beyond was an oval-shaped room; the entrance and the door on the far side were on the contracted ends while the broad, curving walls were lined with humming purple cylinders of light that stretched between two pads on the floor and ceiling. Four of those cylinders were occupied.

Three Spartan-IIIs were suspended in the force cages on the right, still clad in their ODST-model armor, their weapons leaning on the wall next to them, but out of reach. I'm sure they had shock written all over their faces when they glanced over and saw fellow Spartans enter the room, even though I couldn't see through their polarized faceplates.

"James?!" one of them exclaimed, "How did you get in here?! And who are—"

"Well, the plan _was_ to sneak in, but we decided shooting our way in would be slightly more entertaining," James said as he observed the controls for the force cages.

Lynn-G181, the spartan who had spoken, scrutinized Sam and I and saw the rapiers engraved on our helmets, deducing that we weren't part of James's team. "What's Rapier doing here? Where's the rest of Scimitar, James?"

James's silence answered her question.

The three spartans in the force cages all swore under their breaths. "I'm so sorry…." Lynn said.

"The Covenant will be too," James replied evenly, "Now how do I turn these damn things off?"

"Hit the black button on the bottom pads; I _think_ that's the power switch. Evan, better wake the old man up," Lynn said to the spartan in the cage next to her.

I looked at the fourth prisoner for the first time and nearly jumped in shock when I saw who was. Even though he had blood streaked over his wrinkled face, his arm bent at an impossible angle, and one of his eyes swollen shut, he was still _alive;_ that much was evident as he jumped awake and regarded us. He took one look at me and smiled a crooked smile.

"Took you long enough, laddie," O'Keefe chuckled.

"You—you're—you're _dead!_" I stammered in shock, "How—how—"

James found the power switch for Lynn's force cage and deactivated it, sending her crashing to the ground. She winced briefly and picked herself back up. "Haven't been able to move in days," she groaned as she stretched her limbs.

"I was…captured, more or less, not long after you departed," O'Keefe explained as he waited for his cage to be deactivated, "But the brutes kept me alive to interrogate me to find out more about the rest of my squad and you. They wanted to know our strength, numbers, and location. I think they would have…disposed of me very shortly if not for your impeccably timely arrival."

"Figured there was something big going on," Evan-G016, another spartan of Team Stiletto, remarked, "There's a Prophet here. Not one of the three main ones, mind you, but a lesser one, and he personally oversaw the old man's…questioning."

That was surprising news; Covenant Prophets were rarely seen at all, let alone in battles. If a Prophet was _here_ then this installation must have something very important about it.

James disabled O'Keefe's cage last. The old Irishman dropped to the ground on his feet, but he still winced a little bit. "I'm not as young as I used to be…" he muttered.

"Can all of you still fire a weapon?" Sam asked O'Keefe and the spartans. All of them instantly nodded and grabbed their BR55 battle rifles which had been propped up against the wall next to their cages. O'Keefe slung his sniper rifle across his back and picked up his backup SMG, inspecting and loading it, wielding it with his good arm.

"Where's the rest of your team?" James asked Team Stiletto.

Leigh-G029, the third spartan in the room, spoke up. "The two Honor Guard brutes came in and took Adam, our team leader, and Dan away an hour ago. They didn't go to the elevator, though, they went the other way, into the cavern."

I had questions about two major things, so I asked the more obvious question first, "What cavern?"

"There's a large cavern that is accessed through the door at the end of the hall outside; we heard that Prophet talking about it," Lynn answered, "Whatever secret this installation has, whatever the Covies are so interested in; it's in the cavern."

Now for my second question, "Second…Honor Guard _Brutes?_ How could there be Honor Guard _Brutes_, I thought only Elites could have that job. And speaking of Elites, I haven't seen any since our first day in Africa; where have they all gone?"

Lynn took a deep breath and shrugged. "Apparently there's been some dissention in the Covenant between the brutes and elites—I don't know the details, but the fact that there are Honor Guard brutes is probably something to do with that."

Dissention in the Covenant? _Ah—the plot thickens…_

James led us all back out into the hall and down to the doorway at the end which, sure enough, opened up into a cave tunnel that obviously ran through the bedrock beneath the mountains. We sealed the door behind us so that no unwelcome surprises could come through and 'surprise' us later on. The caves were lit by somewhat recently-placed plasma torches. A pair of brutes rounded the corner, conversing with each other and oblivious to us until they were practically in our faces. We opened fire and took them down. Unfortunately, we heard howls and grunts further on in; the other brutes and Covenant had heard us.

We all broke into a steady run and sprinted down the tunnel until it opened up into a colossal cavern. The tunnel's ceiling and walls fell away and it became a wide pathway cut into one of the gigantic walls of the cavern. The cavern roof was rounded like a sphere and the floor angled down into the center like the inside of a bowl. At the very center of the floor was a large purple Forerunner device shaped like a pyramid, but I had no idea what its function was. A small pack of brutes was also clustered at the center of the cavern around the large device. The entrance pathway continued around the cavern's curving side for a short distance before joining with the ground.

I breathed a small sigh of relief; the Covenant knew we were here, but didn't know our position. The rest of my team continued ahead towards the cavern floor, but I went prone and crawled up to the edge of the entrance pathway's easily 100-foot drop. I leveled my SRS99D and observed the remaining Covenant through the scope. There was a yellow-armored brute captain leading around a dozen brute minors and majors…and sure enough, there were two large brutes clad in the yellow, red, and black armor of the Honor Guard. Seeing it for myself, I still couldn't help but wonder at how unusual this was.

I spotted two more Spartan-IIIs kneeling in front of the Forerunner device, both of them restrained from movement by the two Honor Guard brutes. "I've spotted Adam and Dan," I whispered over the COM, "Whatever's gonna happen, it's going to happen _now_, you have to get down there!"

I saw one of the Honor Guards bark an order at the brute captain, who gave a nod and turned to the rest of its subordinates. It let out a roar and every brute save the two Honor Guards broke off and charged up towards the rest of my team at the foot of the entrance pathway. As this occurred, I saw the Prophet the other spartans of Team Stiletto had mentioned. He was in a floating gravity-chair, observing a Covenant Engineer finishing up its work on the device. The Prophet said something to the Honor Guard holding Adam, Stiletto's team leader. The Honor Guard brute hauled Adam to his feet and forced him back down in front of the Prophet.

I focused my sights, but I didn't have a clear shot at either brute or the Prophet without wounding a Spartan. I stole a quick glance at the rest of my team. They had taken down five of the thirteen attacking brutes already, and another two were in their death throes. _Too slow…_

I returned my attention to the center of the cavern. A panel in the Forerunner device had opened and a smaller control panel which comprised of a purple tray-like object with a solid and slightly luminescent blue dome on top. I watched the Prophet trail a finger over the dome, but wherever the Prophet's finger touched, the dome turned red; resulting in a short red trail which vanished after a second. I think the Prophet expected that to happen anyway. The Prophet turned back to Adam and quietly said something to the brute guarding him.

The Honor Guard brute grabbed Adam's arm and ripped off his gauntlet, exposing his bare hand. He then forced Adam's hand onto the dome. Responding to the spartan's touch; the touch of a human, this time the dome turned white and began to glow brightly. As the large brute did this, I finally got a clear shot at its head. I centered in on the Honor Guard's head and loosed off a round. The shot knocked off the Honor Guard's helm, but didn't kill him. I swore and recovered, but just as I fired again the ground began to shake as the Forerunner device powered up. The shot went wide.

I ejected the empty magazine and slammed a new one in, taking aim once more after the shaking ceased. Just before I fired, the brute took out its spiker-rifle sidearm and executed Adam with a single round to the back of the neck. _Then_ my round tore into its skull, a split second too late. I let out a furious scream and took out the other Honor Guard brute in two quick shots before Dan met the same fate. With the last round in the mag, I took out the Prophet's gravity chair, preventing any possible escape for it.

I sprang to my feet and sprinted down the entrance path to the bottom of the cavern, where my comrades were executing the brutes who had survived their wounds. "How'd it go?" Evan asked me as he holstered his magnum pistol.

I said nothing and brushed past them, hurrying towards the center of the cavern. The entire Forerunner device was humming loudly. The humming grew higher and faster until its apex shot a beam of brilliant white light up into the air. It went up about halfway before it stopped and was joined by several other beams of light coming from the cavern wall and ceiling. The nexus of the beams at the center swelled into a sphere and grew bigger and bigger until it was at least the size of a large house. The white beams snapped off and the sphere's brilliance faded, revealing it for what it was; a giant hologram representation of Earth, and not just any normal hologram, it seemed to be a real-time hologram with moving water and land. The Prophet was hunched over at the controls and speaking to something through a personal COM unit. It finished its report straightened up in time to be felled again by a shot from my magnum.

The rest of my comrades caught up with me as I reached the Forerunner device. Sam leaned over Dan, who was still on the ground, and removed the neural inhibitor on his neck that had been preventing him from moving on his own. The others gathered around the body of Adam, silent and awestruck.

A deep sadness came over me; yet another Spartan had now been lost. It always seemed much more personal when one of our own died, comrades you had fought with and trained with for over a decade; gone in the blink of an eye. It really drove home the frailty of human life.

Dan picked himself up and limped over to the Prophet, seizing it by the neck and hauling it upright.

"Vermin," the Prophet hissed contemptuously, "Your world shall burn and your kind shall burn with it. Your despicable race's foul stain shall be cleansed from this galaxy and—"

"Oh, shut him up," James growled.

"Toss me a grenade," Dan smiled wolfishly, drawing his knife. Sam threw him one of her frags and he caught it with his free hand. He hefted his combat knife and plunged it into the Prophet's back, jerking it down and creating a large enough rip. He then primed the frag grenade and shoved it inside the screaming Prophet's body and tossed the Prophet up with all his strength. The Covenant leader exploded in midair, showering the ground with bodily matter and cinders.

That, grisly as it was, put a smile on all of our faces. "Quite a spectacle," O'Keefe smirked, observing the mess on the ground.

We all turned our attention to the giant representation of Earth hovering in the air above the pyramid device. There were several red dots all over the globe, but one of them in particular was larger than the rest, and it had been the one I'd seen the Prophet looking at. "So _this_ is what the Covenant were after; a map," Sam broke the silence.

"A map of what?" Evan spoke for all of us.

"Forerunner installations; this place must be a Cartographer."

I gazed closer at the pulsing red dot. I saw that it was located in a familiar spot in north-east Africa. "That's New Mombasa," I realized.

"No," Sam shook her head, "that's not Mombasa; it's off by a hundred miles, next to a town called....Voi, I think...This must have to do with the Halo rings; that would explain why the Covenant wanted this knowledge so badly. They were looking for whatever is next to Voi, they just didn't know where it was. Now they do."

"And that Prophet was able to report what it had found before we killed him," I said, remembering the Prophet hunched over the controls and speaking into a COM, "We have to go before the Covenant realize that their Prophet's now just a pile of ground beef. We need to report this to HighCom. Now that the Covenant know where to look for whatever that thing is, they're gonna act."

"Better pick him up," James gestured to Adam's body, "we shouldn't leave him down here."

Finally, we were going to be leaving these damn mountains…I personally couldn't wait to get back into normal battles and skirmishes, no more secret or special ops—just straight up face-to-face fighting.

We all got our gear together and started the long walk back to the entrance of the Forerunner installation; hoping for a better tomorrow but knowing that we would never get one.


	13. Chapter 12: Desperate Measures

Chapter Twelve: Desperate Measures

**0430 Hours, December 18, 2552 (Military Calendar) \ One Month Later  
Earth, Sol System**

**Old Mombasa, Kenya**

**Captain Ian McCandlish—Delta Company Commanding\77****th**** Marine Regiment**

_I walked through the hallway in my small cottage in the outskirts of Manchester, irrevocably exhausted from the effort of putting the twins to bed. I swear, I think they _enjoyed_ torturing me every night. If I'd known two bloody ten-year-old boys would have been this much trouble I'd have built a kennel to keep them in! Okay, no, not a kennel, I'd never do that; I was just tired. People think differently when they are tired, and I'm no exception._

_I opened my bedroom door and trudged in, peeling off my shirt and slipping into my sleep pants. Iris was already in bed, reading her copy of _Angels and Demons,_ some old adventure novel from the 21__st__ century. My wife was obsessed with 21__st__ century stories; she always kept a large shelf of them in the closet. "_You're_ putting the kids to bed tomorrow," I grumbled as I slipped into my half of the bed. I punched the pillows several times to fluff them up and lay back, letting out a long breath and another yawn._

_Iris didn't even glance up from her book. "A brave 'n mighty UNSC Marine Corps Captain who's laid waste to several Covenant armies, who's saved thousands of civilians from the Outer Colonies, and who personally destroyed the Covenant flagship at the Siege of the Atlas Moons—knackered by two ten-year-olds. _My_, what a smashing tale this'd be for the epics."_

_I sat back up and smiled, putting an arm around my wife's shoulder saying, "You know how adorable you look when you get all steamy fancy like that?"_

_"Oh, shut it, you can't acknowledge a legitimate spot of anger even if it twatted ye in the face, why do I even—" even as she spoke, she put her book down and leaned closer to me. Her lips brushed mine and—_

"Captain!"

_I cocked an eyebrow; certain I had heard someone calling out for me. "You hear that?" I asked Iris._

_"Hear what?" she asked. I gazed back at her with concern; her voice had changed—it was more distant and disembodied…almost like listening to it though water. As I watched, the room around me began to blur and fade._

I think I realized what was happening a moment before it actually did, that would explain why I found myself already swearing even as I woke up, roused by my aide calling out my name and gently shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes and took in the all-too-familiar sight of the cracked and smoldering asphalt of Liberty Street, now illuminated in the dark by plasma torches and old street-lights that had yet to be shot to pieces. I had found an open place to crash with several of my men in an open alley between two short buildings, but it obviously wasn't enough to not be disturbed.

Corporal Abruzzi, my aide, straightened up and offered me a hand. I took it and hauled myself to my feet. "I'm sorry for waking you sir," Abruzzi apologized, "but Major Sutherland wants to see you and the other Company Commanders at Regimental Headquarters right away."

I sighed inwardly, but merely nodded to Abruzzi. "Thank you, Pete—we'll see what the old man wants. Get some sleep while I'm gone."

"Thank you, sir, but I have a feeling we won't be able to sleep much longer. The major doesn't call in the Company Commanders for light reasons."

I had to agree with that; the Major wasn't known for baseless fears and suspicions.

Ever since Colonel Weinburg, the 77th's original CO, had been killed in the initial invasion of Mombasa half a month ago, Weinburg's executive officer, Major Paul Sutherland, had been in charge. In the initial invasion, five of the nine companies of the 77th Marine Regiment had been annihilated; caught in the mainland by surprise, surrounded, and destroyed. Delta Company, _my_ company, had survived along with 1st Battalion; Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie, because we had been in New Mombasa at the time of the invasion. And now, ironically, we were _still_ alive because we had _not_ been in New Mombasa during the explosion.

A Covenant Assault Carrier which had managed to bypass the Orbital Defense Grid that had been harassing us since day one had made a sudden slipspace jump while hovering right above the city. It was the resulting explosion—caused by the jump—that had leveled the island of New Mombasa and caused damage to the mainland city. Luckily for us, Major Sutherland had decided to go on the offensive a day before the explosion. I remember him saying at the briefing that night that the battle had been going _too easy_ and that he had a bad feeling about staying in New Mombasa when the Covenant weren't truly attacking us. We had all geared up and advanced across the Mombasa Suspension Bridge, gaining a foothold on the other side of the Strait. One day later; no more New Mombasa. Whatever misgivings anyone had for the major vanished that day.

I reached into my inner pocket and drew out the worn photograph that I had carried with me through every battle. It was one of me, Samuel and William—the twins and my wife Iris wrestling each other to the ground in the yard of my home back in Manchester. A lump rose in my throat; my family was safe in the White Keep, an ONI stronghold located somewhere deep under the highlands and moors of Scotland. I hadn't seen them for nearly half a year.

I hopped into an idle mongoose that had been abandoned on the street during the battle yesterday, putting my picture back in its pocket. It coughed to life and lurched forward. I turned myself around and headed back down Liberty Street towards the Hotel Zanzibar, our makeshift Regimental HQ. My route took me past several patrols and groups of marines; some of them mine, some of them not. They all gave me a respectful nod regardless of their outfit.

I pulled the mongoose over and killed the engine once I reached the hotel. I climbed off and made my way to the hotel's entrance. I ended up running into my old friend Captain Aucamanc Hiawatha, Alpha Company's CO. Hiawatha was something of an enigma; I had met many marines and naval personnel over the years, and each fell into one category or another; fighting for family, fighting for humanity, fighting for home or friends, fighting for revenge etc. etc. Hiawatha didn't seem to fall into any of them. He was an older man of Native American descent. His tanned face was creased with laughter lines and he carried about him an air of serenity. He was a very spiritual man, and yet on the battlefield his ruthlessness towards his enemies could rival that of a brute's. As I said—he's something of an enigma.

"A fine night for revelations," Hiawatha grinned as we gave each other a friendly thump on the back.

"Too right, old friend," I answered. We traded our stories of what had transpired with our companies since the offensive on Old Mombasa; the Companies had split in different directions after we gained a foothold on this side of the bridge—this was the first time I'd seen Hiawatha since then. Delta Company—my company—had been sent up Liberty Street while Alpha had hooked around and pushed through the northern reaches of the city. As I listened to Hiawatha, I realized that the battle was actually going _well._ It wouldn't have been the _first_ battle I've won in my service, but it would be one of the first victories that wasn't pyrrhic.

I followed Hiawatha through the Hotel Zanzibar's entrance into the lobby. I surveyed the lobby of the dilapidated hotel with a sense of grim reverence and respect. During the initial invasion, the remnants of Echo Company had managed to set up a CP here—the equipment was still being used by the Regimental HQ jockeys—and they defended it until the In Amber Clad's reinforcements arrived. The Master Chief himself had arrived here in time to save Echo's survivors, who were later broken into _my_ company. There was debris littering the ground in several spots where the ceiling had given out and collapsed. There were still blood spatters and spent shell casings all over the ground and walls—a lot of good kids had died here.

Now, the tables and chairs had all been cleared away to make room for all of the COM stations utilized by the Regimental HQ operators. Hiawatha and I ran into Captain Regina Strome, Charlie Company CO, at the reception desk. Captain Strome had seen as much combat as I had, although she had held her position for a shorter time. She was a level-headed soldier—a good captain.

Mr. Peterson, the elderly volunteer Chief Operator of the 77th's Regimental HQ, sat behind the reception desk. He flashed us a quick smile and directed us to head down into the basement.

"So what have you boys been up to?" Strome asked us as we reached the elevator. The pair of marines standing guard gave us a crisp salute, which we returned, and stood aside.

"Basically the exact same as your company, just a different location," I replied.

Hiawatha gave a hum of agreement. "The spirits seem determined to have us win this fight one building at a time. The one flaw—or at least inconvenience—is that it takes upwards of twelve hours to a full journey of the sun to capture a single building."

"Well, you know the blokes who say that you never quite appreciate the small knick-knacks in life until they're taken away?" I chuckled, "Well I sure am missing our Armored brigades—they're all bogged down elsewhere, but if we had them _here_ we could advance much faster then we are now."

The elevator dinged and slid to a halt. The door opened and we emerged into a dimly lit hallway. An aide spotted us and directed us down several hallways to the hotel's large storage room, which had another pair of marines standing guard at the door. "At ease, boys," Strome ordered them. They relaxed and stood aside, giving us a respectful nod as we entered the storage room.

The storage room had been completely cleared out. Dozens of tables filled with SAT imaging, COM stations, Aerial coordination stations, and many other pieces of equipment filled the whole space. It was definitely the main Ops room. I spotted Major Sutherland hunched over the table in the center which had a representation of Old Mombasa and the locations of all of our troops. He was probably working with spotters throughout the city to pinpoint enemy positions. That was all normal, however. The one thing about the room that really startled me was the large white-armored Elite standing right in front of the entrance.

I let out a surprised shout, but I had already seized my magnum sidearm—my only weapon at the moment, which I was mentally cursing myself for—and was leaping at the alien. The Elite barely had time to grunt in mild surprise before I barreled into him at his waist football-style, managing to knock him flat on the ground.

The Elite activated his glowing blue energy sword and held it close enough against my torso that my armor singed slightly while I aimed my magnum straight at its unprotected mouth. "Cease, Human, we are allies!" the Elite raised its deep baritone voice.

"Aerath, would you please lower your sword and not skewer my company commander," I recognized the firm, authoritative voice of Major Sutherland, "And Ian? I'd also appreciate if you _didn't_ shoot our guest in the mouth. That wouldn't exactly improve relations."

I didn't lower my magnum, unable to comprehend what Sutherland was saying. "Do you mean to say that—"

"Yes," Sutherland cut me off, "The Elites have joined us in this fight."


	14. Chapter 13: The Enemy of My Enemy

Chapter Thirteen: The Enemy of My Enemy

**0500 Hours, December 18, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Earth, Sol System**

**Old Mombasa, Kenya**

**Captain Ian McCandlish—Delta Company Commanding\77****th**** Marine Regiment**

"You have anger, Human, that is good," the Elite growled to me as he climbed back onto his feet, deactivating his energy sword while I holstered my magnum, "You have aggression; that is even better—but take great care upon whom you choose to direct those feelings_._ Fate may have placed us on the same side of this conflict, but do not make the mistake of believing that I will allow you to extinguish me merely to satisfy your emotions."

"When were you planning on informing us of this little….change of plans?" I spat the words out like they tasted extremely bitter, directing them at Major Sutherland.

The Major straightened up. I could tell how much of a toll this battle was taking on him—the weariness in his face was visible to all. The circles under his eyes had gone from noticeable to painfully obvious. "Right _now_," Sutherland replied evenly, and that was it.

Captain Michaels, Bravo Company's CO, arrived five minutes later. With all the company commanders gathered, Sutherland took us and the Elite into a small, private backroom and started the briefing.

"I'm going to be direct with you all because, well, you already know it; we have allied ourselves with the Elites," he stated, "I personally do not care _how_ you feel about this because the alliance is non-negotiable for you. Judging by Captain McCandlish's apt reaction, I know this is not blowing over well, but consider this; with the Sangheili's assistance—we may actually have a chance of _winning_ this war. That's something we have never had the luxury of feeling for nigh on forty years."

I mulled it over for a bit, really thinking about it. It was unnatural—why would the Elites, who had devoted _all_ of their energies to wiping us out of existence for nearly forty years—suddenly _ally_ with us? Could they have an ulterior motive? I had to acknowledge the last thing the major had said, though; throughout this entire war the UNSC has been losing. We won our fair share of battles, sure, but in the long run we were steadily being pushed back into a corner. We were now _in_ that corner. Earth _was_ the fallback point; our Alamo. There was no place to retreat to from here. I think that every soldier knew deep down that, ultimately, victory was impossible at this point; all we had been trying to do is make the Covenant _pay_ for every drop of blood they spilled. And we have been doing that beautifully, but it wasn't nearly enough to ensure our species' survival.

_But now…_ Now it seemed possible that we could actually break _out_ of our corner. Stripping away the emotions—which were irrelevant in this situation; Sutherland was right about that—the alliance with the Elites, from a military standpoint, could prove to be our first and _only_ hope. I thought about Will and Sam, my twin sons; I thought about Iris; I thought about all of the civilians and the families of the fellow soldiers out there that we were fighting to keep alive. _They_ deserved to live and if allying with the Elites could give them a chance to do just that, then so be it. With that knowledge, I knew I could set aside my personal feelings for them.

The other captains obviously agreed. They nodded and settled into their chairs; the infernos of anger and hatred in their eyes had faded to smoldering embers, but our suspicion and distrust still remained. It would take more than this to overcome those feelings. I'm sure it was mutual for the Elite.

Sutherland looked slightly relieved that we had accepted this and he didn't have to go through any trouble to convince us differently. He gestured to the white-armored Elite and introduced him. "Gentlemen, this is Aerath 'Ovarumee. He is an Ultra, their equivalent of a major or colonel, in the Sangheili forces," Sutherland explained. The Ultra inclined his head and clicked his mandibles in acknowledgement. "Aerath, these are my remaining company commanders; Hiawatha, Michaels, Strome, and I believe you and Captain McCandlish have already met."

I said nothing and kept my expression static. 'Ovarumee did likewise, though I think he was mentally evaluating me. I knew next to nothing about the culture of the Elites—or 'Sangheili', their proper name—but I did know that they had a great respect for honor and courage. They were a war-loving race, but at the same time not incapable of peace. I found myself comparing them to the samurai of ancient Japan.

"Aerath has been sent here to assist us in our fight here—" Sutherland started to say, but one of the IR operators interrupted him, knocking on the door shouting, "Major Sutherland, sir! I'm picking up some chatter from HighCom I think you'll want to hear!"

Sutherland immediately sprang to his feet and strode back out into the ops room. We stood up and followed him over to the operator's listening station where he had a live transmission playing from the console. Sutherland called for silence and we all listened in.

"—repeat your last transmission; you're breaking up," an older voice, recognizably Fleet Admiral Terrence Hood's, requested.

The voice on the other end was more fuzzy and distant and it had a noticeable upper London accent. "HighCom, this is the UNSC Breath of Winter. We're picking up slipspace signatures near our position, over!"

"Impossible, check your readings again," Hood ordered, sounding skeptical.

There was a pause on the other end for a few seconds, and then a new, more synthetic voice of a shipboard AI came onto the channel. "HighCom, I would strongly advise you to listen to Captain Newman's warning. I concur with his conclusions. The indicated signatures can only be more Covenant vessels. I would recommend—"

"Polaris, are you certain that—" Hood started to address the Breath of Winter's AI, but was cut off by another voice; probably an IR operator operating in the main ops Center in HighCom. "Sir, he's right. I'm detecting multiple pings outside of the orbital defense grid…sir, there's a helluva lot more of them this time—I'm counting at least thirty capital ships and—oh, I don't even know how many smaller—"

"All units, this is Lord Hood—Winter Contingency has been declared, I want—"

"Well, sirs, you get the idea," the operator said as he turned down the transmission.

"Yeah, we're only just cleaning up the remnants of the _last_ invasion and now we're about to get the shit kicked out of us _again_," Captain Michaels grunted.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Captain," Sutherland advised, "Remember who our new friends are. We'll take this new turn of events one step at a time; no sense in worrying about how to beat them before worrying about how to survive their first wave. Hiawatha, Strome, Michaels; you're dismissed. Report back to your companies and bring them up to speed about our mutual acquaintences and the incoming invasion, but first get them ready for anything and everything. There is going to be storm coming, and I want our ship to be _airtight_. Ian, a word with you, please?"

The other three company commanders saluted, turned on their heels, and double-timed it out of the room. "May our ancestors watch over you, old friend," Hiawatha said to me as he exited.

"Sir?" I asked, unsure of why I was being kept. After all, I had a company of over two hundred men and women to attend to and they would need me before the sun rose.

"The Office of Naval Intelligence had a small base in this city for research and development. It was decommissioned and restored as a listening outpost to watch for Insurrectionist spies. The Covenant have discovered its location and are well on their way to retrieving the data stored inside of it."

"What's the catch?" I asked. My first reaction was confusion. The only valuable data stored in ONI compounds was the locations of any and all UNSC establishments, but seeing as the Covenant were _here_ at Earth that data now mattered very little. The only logical explanation; there was _other_ data that I hadn't considered.

"That ONI listening post has the locations of every other ONI stronghold in the planet, such as the White Keep," Sutherland explained. That realization dawned on me; if the Covenant found the locations of those strongholds, _no_ place would be safe. I knew Sutherland had deliberately mentioned the White Keep; that's where my family was being kept safe. "I want you and your company to proceed to the listening post, destroy all hostiles in the area, and secure that data. I know you are aware of the potential consequences should that data fall into Covenant hands, so I won't go through the trouble of informing you. One more thing," he called out as I turned to leave. He nodded to 'Ovarumee, who had stood up and was inspecting his violet type-51 carbine rifle. "'Ovarumee was ordered by his superiors to assist my regiment. I gave him the choice of which company he desired to be assigned with and he's chosen yours. Good luck, you are dismissed." And that was it; the bombshell had been dropped and now the plane had already vanished into the horizon.

'Ovarumee and I said nothing to each other as we left the ops room together. The two guards outside saluted me again, but gave 'Ovarumee a wide berth, eyeing him cautiously. We stepped into the elevator and started to ascend to the ground floor.

"So—" I broke the frosty silence, "know any good elevator music?"

"We are not friends, Human, we are comrades. Nothing more," the ultra declared sharply.

I rolled my eyes. "Believe me, squid-head; I don't need to be reminded. I just thought we could make some conversation; after all, your race massacring most of mine seems to be an extreme form of the two of us 'getting off on the wrong foot'."

'Ovarumee's mandibles clicked and twitched in irritation, but that was the only emotion he showed. The elevator dinged and we walked out. The operators in the lobby fell silent as we passed by them and didn't resume conversation until we had walked outside into the street.

The sun was about to rise; the sky had a deep purple hue, streaked with yellow and red, which grew more and more orange on the eastern horizon. I gazed up at the eastern sky, staring at the sunrise for a few seconds. "Beautiful, aren't they?" I said to 'Ovarumee, "You chaps got sunrises back where you come from?"

The ultra gave a short nod, averting his gaze as the sun crested over the horizon. "Shame you glassed so many worlds," I said matter-of-factly, "Quite a few sunrises we'll all never see again. Hop on the back," I gestured to the back of my mongoose, which was still parked on the sidewalk where I had left it. The Elite eyed the vehicle with distaste, but climbed on anyway as I hopped into the driver's seat, revving the engines.

I punched the gas and we sped down Liberty Street towards my company's position. "You want to know something?" I hollered to my passenger over the din of the engine, "The op Sutherland's told me to do had me a little nervous, but what worries me a lot more is how I'm going to explain you to the company. I'm not sure whether I should just cut out the middle man and kill you now."

"You are welcome to _attempt,_" 'Ovarumee emphasized the word, "and so are they."

We didn't utter another word to each other for the rest of the trip.


	15. Chapter 14: Behold a Pale Horse

Chapter Fourteen: Behold a Pale Horse

**1500 Hours, December 18, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Earth, Sol System**

**Old Mombasa, Kenya**

**Captain Ian McCandlish—Delta Company Commanding\77****th**** Marine Regiment**

"Incoming!!" the warning cry came for the thousandth time as the Covenant wraiths opened up on us yet again. I took cover behind a section of broken wall as the barrage of plasma bolts tore into the ground and building around us.

Ten hours ago I had roused my company from their nighttime slumber and informed them of the mission Major Sutherland had given us. We would have to advance up Liberty Street two whole miles—a distance that usually took us days to recapture—and secure most of the block that an ONI listening post was located on. Then we had to—this is while being under heavy fire from nearly every side by legions of Covenant infantry, Ghosts, and Wraith tanks, by the way—we had to retrieve vital data from the computer core of the ONI outpost. That was the _easy_ part.

The hard part was personified by Aerath 'Ovarumee, the Sangheili ultra who had chosen to fight with my company. My men hadn't reacted too well when I told them about the alliance between our two races, but at least there hadn't been any physical tension. I had that much to be thankful for. I would walk through fire for my men, and they would do the same for me, but someone like 'Ovarumee could easily wipe out a good number of us if we ever turned our weapons on him.

Despite our initial animosity towards 'Ovarumee, he had proven himself an exceptional fighter, scoring kills like a Titan on the battlefield. The Elite and my men developed a grudging respect for each other as they saved each other's skins throughout the day. He was as agile, fast, and strong as a spartan; more than once I had seem him cave a brute's skull in with a single blow, helmet and all. When he fought grunts, jackals, or vehicles he did so with ruthless efficiency; but when he fought a brute it was different. He was savage and vicious with the brutes, as if every fight between him and one of them was personal. Perhaps it was; I had yet to discover that the brutes had tried to massacre the elites just as the Great Schism was beginning to occur. The Elites' deep, deep _hatred_ of the brutes had been pent up for centuries, like a thunderstorm in a small glass bottle. And now, without the Prophets' lies to restrain it, that bottle had finally shattered.

After ten hours of fighting and slow advancing, I was currently pinned down with 3rd platoon in an old warehouse one block down from the ONI listening post. We had to cross the street ahead of us to reach the outpost, but a solid line of infantry and wraith tanks barred our way and threatened to atomize anything that stuck so much as a nose hair outside. I stole a glance upwards, nervously observing the roof. As the barrage continued the roof had begun to fall apart. This warehouse simply wouldn't be able to take this much of a beating for very long. A large chunk of it crumbled away under the wraiths' attacks and crashed to the ground, narrowly missing three marines who had been taking cover behind another section of wall.

I turned to my aide, Corporal Abruzzi, who was dug in right next to me and shouted, "Bloody hell, Abruzzi, get on the ringer to 1st platoon and tell 'em that if they don't take those wraiths out _now_ they'll soon be taking orders from Lt. Hollard!"

1st Lieutenant Hollard, another good friend of mine, was my company executive officer and he would be the one who would take command of the company in the event of my death. I'm sure my point was clear.

"It's done," Abruzzi reported. I strained my ears over the noise of the battle until I could faintly hear the great _whooshing_ sound of several jackhammer rockets firing at once. I peeked over the edge of the ruined wall I was behind in time to see several blazing rockets impact and destroy a good number of the wraiths between us and the ONI listening post.

The barrage stopped as the wraith tanks ceased their fire to allow their plasma to recharge and recycle. I knew we had to advance and that this building couldn't take another beating. "Move up, lads, _move_ _up!_ We need to get across!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, taking advantage of the temporary lull in enemy fire. As 2nd platoon laid down a withering covering fire from the left flank with several M41 LAAGs and two gauss warthogs, 3rd and I broke cover and charged out of the building.

The turret gunners manning the wraiths' plasma cannons opened up on us when we reached the street. I saw several marines go down, peppered with the plasma fire.

_Damn it…_ For the umpteenth time I found myself missing the team of Spartans that had fought with my company in the beginning of the invasion in the parking garage in New Mombasa. Their sharpshooter had been able to snipe the turret gunners right out of their seats, reducing the wraiths' combat effectiveness by a significant amount. That alone had saved many, many lives. It had been a luxury that I had relied on a lot, but now we were on our own. Those Spartans had been called away to some mission up north and had yet to return.

As we reached the other side of the street and broke into the building—an old clothes shop—I saw 'Ovarumee sprinting _towards_ one of the remaining wraiths. I opened my mouth to call him back, but closed it at the last second. I was curious to see what the ultra was up to.

The Elite drew out and activated his crackling energy sword as he leaped on top of the wraith. He plunged his sword into the brute manning the plasma cannon, killing it and tossing it off the tank. The driver must have heard the commotion because the wraith started to veer around wildly, trying to shake him off, but all to no avail. 'Ovarumee's mandibles stretched out in a savage shout and he brought his fist pounding down on the thick panel of armor protecting the cockpit. The first blow dented it, the second blow actually dislodged it a tad, but the third blow completely crumpled it. The ultra ripped the armor covering away and, with a swift stroke of his energy sword, decapitated the brute driver. 'Ovarumee picked the corpse up and cast it down onto the ground, giving a victorious shout. He then slid into the wraith's cockpit and turned the tank around, opening fire on the remaining Covenant tanks and ghosts.

"Go, Humans," the Elite ordered us over the COM, "I will keep them busy."

"_He_ _sure_ _will,_" I murmured, getting to my feet, "Look alive, chaps, we're almost there!" Lt. Gervais, 3rd Platoon's platoon leader, got the sixty or so men on their feet and led them to the back of the shop. We all exited the shop via the back service door and ended up in a thin back alley.

"Where's our objective?" Gervais asked me as we reached the open street once more.

"Two hundred yards down this block," I answered, gesturing down Liberty Street with my hand, "disguised as a hardware store."

It was chaos on Liberty Street; 'Ovarumee was tearing the surprised Covenant apart with his captured wraith, but they were starting to recover. 1st Platoon's heavy weapons teams were still taking out other hostile wraiths to help the Elite. Liberty Street was now choked with the shells of destroyed Covenant vehicles and alien corpses.

We advanced down the sidewalk swiftly before the Covenant could get a chance to acquire us as targets. I took 2nd squad inside the hardware store while the rest of the platoon shored up the perimeter. "Make this fast, sir!" Gervais called after me.

There were at least a dozen grunts inside the hardware store, led by a minor brute. We opened up on them and sent them all to Hell before most of they had a chance to react. One marine was hit in the shoulder with a burst from a plasma pistol, but other than that we were unscathed.

I led the squad behind the counter where normally people would pay for their goods. Sutherland had told me how to access the secret ONI listening post, but it didn't matter anymore; behind the counter was a gaping hole in the ground still glowing around the edges from the heat of the plasma that had created it, revealing a steel ladder descending to a dimly lit room several stories down. I slung my MA5C over my back, grasped the two sides of the ladder with both hands, and slid the whole way down. I landed in a short corridor which led up to another gaping hole which had used to be a steel door. The rest of 2nd squad, led by Staff Sergeant Howell, dropped in behind me and did a brief sweep of the corridor. We steadily advanced into the room ahead, cautiously checking for Covenant.

Two brutes and five jackals waited for us; they must have heard our exchange of fire upstairs. They opened fire the moment we stepped into the room. I took two spiker rounds to the chest and blacked out for a few seconds. I felt my blood rush to my head briefly as I came to again. Another marine had been hit, but the rest managed to take out the small Covenant garrison with quick, concentrated bursts. Luckily for us, the jackals didn't have their energy shields ready when we dropped in, allowing Howell's boys to kill them quickly.

I picked myself up, wincing at the two spikes lodged in my chest. "Sir, I really don't think you should be walking right now," Private Levin, one of Howell's marines, warned me. She took my arm, but I shook it off. I was fine; my armor had taken most of the impact, the spikes themselves had caused just a slightly deep flesh wound. Pulling them out could result in excessive bleeding, so I left them in for now. My own personal tribal jewelry. I thanked Levin for her trouble, though, because I was just _that_ nice.

"Levin, I'm sure the Captain is capable of deciding when he is able to perform one of his most basic bodily functions," SSgt. Howell said gruffly.

"Sir," the marine nodded.

I dusted myself off and observed the computer core in the center of the room. A Covenant Engineer hovered in front of the core, dismantling the panel protecting the data crystal inside. I drew my magnum sidearm, pressed it to the Engineer's head, and splattered its brains all over the core. I gingerly removed the crystal from its niche and pocketed it. "Our objective is complete; we're out of here," I said.

SSgt. Howell led us back up into the hardware store and outside into the street. I could tell that things had deteriorated outside from my first glance. 'Ovarumee's wraith had been destroyed and the Elite, his armor still smoking, was now fighting alongside Lt. Gervais' men right outside the store "Colville, give me a sit-rep!" I called out to SSgt. Colville, 4th squad's squad leader.

"Sir!" the staff sergeant acknowledged me with a nod. His expression faltered when he caught sight of the spikes in my chest, but he continued anyway, "the Covenant managed to flank us and cut us off from the rest of the regiment! Phantoms came in from the west and deployed reinforcements! 1st and 2nd platoons are defending the other side of the block! We're giving 'em all we can, sir, but we'll be overwhelmed within ten minutes if this continues!"

Oh, this was _not_ good. Not one bit. I hunkered down behind a derelict car parked by the sidewalk and opened fire with my MA5C, taking down a pair of bold grunts trying to charge across Liberty Street towards us. "What's the status on our heavy rippers?!" I called out to Lt. Gervais.

"M41 LAAGs are out of ammo, sir! We're down to conventional arms and grenades," the platoon leader reported.

"Squid-face Mc-whatever-your-name-is," I shouted to 'Ovarumee, fully aware of what his name was, "any ideas?"

"Take as many of them with us as we can," the Elite answered simply.

Well that was rather unhelpful. I swore as a trio of brutes led a file of jackals and grunts in a charge across Liberty Street against our defenses. We only _just_ managed to repel them; we wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. This would be my company's grave, and all for a measly piece of crystal.

One of the marines next to me went down with a stray spiker shot to the neck. I screamed for a medic, but by the time Doc Siddhartha arrived, the kid was too far gone; the spiker had penetrated too deeply. I saw another figure appear out of thin air and crouch over the dying marine, holding a crucifix in one hand and a small black bible in the other. It was Father Patrick Maloney, the 77th's chaplain. He wasn't really a Father, but soldiers always refer to chaplains as 'Father' in the same way that all medics are called 'Doc'. Father Maloney was a freak of nature; he had been in this outfit longer than I had been. I remember fighting with him during my first battle on Arcadia and ever since then I had observed him. He waded through every battlefield under heavy fire and at colossal personal risk to dying marines and civilians and administered last rites, or khaddish, or other rituals depending on the dying person's religion. He had been doing that for over twenty years and had never been hit once. The men of the 77th viewed him as the 'beloved grandfather' of the regiment.

Maloney completed administering last rites to the marine and closed his eyes with his hands. He glanced up at me and gave a brief nod as he stood up and moved off to another downed man.

The attacking Covenant must have gotten all the reinforcements they needed, because at that moment they all let out a scream in unison and charged our lines. We took out as many of them as we could, but there were too many. All of the men with longer ranged weapons retreated into the shops and buildings and continued to take potshots at the aliens, but anyone with a handy shotgun remained outside, taking brutes out with well-aimed bursts and dealing with lesser Covenant with their side arms. They were all brave souls, and a number of them were killed, but we managed to hold our line for the time being.

I didn't move from my position; I continued to pump lead into any Covie that came within a ten-foot radius of me. Eventually I realized that I was isolated as the Covenant overran the rest of the line. I picked up a shotgun lying on the ground next to its previous owner and found myself back-to-back with 'Ovarumee. The seasoned ultra had abandoned his carbine and plasma rifle, instead wielding his energy sword and keeping anything not human at an arm's length with sweeping slashes.

We were eventually backed into an alley corner, but that actually made the battle somewhat easier. 'Ovarumee dragged a small abandoned car over and we took cover behind it. The ultra's personal energy shields absorbed any weaponsfire that would have harmed either of us while I pumped buckshot into anything that attacked while 'Ovarumee was tied up. Eventually the pile of corpses around our makeshift cover grew higher than the car, forcing us to stand on its roof when a pair of plasma grenades sailed into our little niche. The explosions rocked the car, but didn't cause any real damage. Several more brutes tried to climb up onto the car, but 'Ovarumee finished them all with powerful swipes of his sword. A third plasma grenade came sailing out of the air right towards the Elite, but he didn't notice. I jumped over to him and delivered a swift kick to his knees. He crumpled to the ground and the grenade sailed over his head and exploded harmlessly on the alley wall behind us. I lost track of time after several more minutes. Each shot, each snarling brute faded into the next. Before I knew it, I shotgunned one last brute in the head, 'Ovarumee brought his sword slicing down into flesh and bone one last time, and we found the alleyway empty. We had taken on an entire flanking force of Covenant and _lived_. One of the thoughts going through my head at the time was the desire to live just so I could tell this story to my family. 'Ovarumee grunted in surprise, probably still realizing that he had actually survived the impossible. He turned to me and gave a barely perceptible nod before making for the alley's exit.

The ultra and I headed out into the street to rejoin the fight and came face-to-face with a lone surviving wraith tank. The wraith turned on a dime and seemed to regard us as a human would an ant before crushing it. In the corner of my eye I noticed a wild storm of dust and debris kicking up, obscuring most of the fight. Explosions and alien screams were audible through the haze; something was really tearing them a new one. But whatever it was did not matter because unless it could miraculously take out this wraith in the next five seconds, 'Ovarumee and I were up the legendary 'shit creek' without a paddle.

Then, as the wraith's mortar began to glow, I spied something out of place on the purple vehicle—a spot of red…and it was blinking…I noticed that it was in fact a thin _beam_ of red light cutting through the dusty haze and landing on the wraith. It struck a familiar chord in my memory; I had only seen one of those weapons in action a few times—they were very rare. Just as the wraith's plasma mortar began to belch out the roiling plasma bolt with our names on it, the thin red beam of the spartan laser solidified with a rushing sound, into a thick, searing blade of scarlet destruction, tearing through the armor of the wraith like lava through ice. The wraith's mortar blew itself to pieces when the power for generating the electro-magnetic fields that contained and shaped the plasma into plasma bolts was cut, resulting in the plasma escaping unhindered. The wraith plunked to the ground, a sizeable hole through its chassis which a person could look through to the other side. "Spartan lasers," I smiled, "Gotta love 'em"

"They do give destruction a more spectacular façade," 'Ovarumee grunted in agreement. He turned back to me and eyed me with a newfound respect which I had not seen him display before. He nodded to me again, this time a full nod. "You fight well, Human. You survived at my side when most, even of my race, would have perished. It is an honor to bear arms with you."

Coming from an Elite, I knew this was high praise indeed. "Well, this party isn't over yet. I was rather hoping you'd stick around for its grand finale," I held out my hand to the ultra. At first unsure of what to do, the Elite caught on and grasped my hand with his, and we shook. We were probably the first Human and Sangheili to ever shake hands like so.

Though somewhat dazed and shell shocked, my men picked themselves up off the ground and wandered out of the buildings they had been holed up in, taking in the spectacle as the steady westerly wind blew the haze away, revealing piles of Covenant corpses amidst the broken shells of destroyed vehicles. Out of this spectacle of the sudden carnage and destruction came its cause; five silhouettes walking abreast of each other—five very familiar silhouettes which I would recognize anywhere. One of them, the girl who had handled their heavier weapons, held the recently-used spartan laser that had saved our skins over her shoulder.

"_Well, behold a pale horse…_" I murmured to myself.

"A pale horse?" 'Ovarumee clicked his mandibles in confusion.

"Means death," I explained to the ultra, "Death for the Covenant."

Team Rapier had finally returned.


	16. Chapter 15: Unconquerable

Author's Note

Well apparently this story isn't the trash I first expected it to be, people seem to be liking it! With that in mind, I want to apologize for me taking so long to get this chapter up--last week was my last week of school, so we were doing finals and I didn't quite have the time to work on this. Now that summer is here (WOOHOO) I'm part of a summer show and I can also be kind of lazy, so this story may not get updated quite as often as it used to, but at the same time it won't be as if I'm only typing a sentence per day. Just a heads-up so you won't be too flabberghasted out of your minds. Thank you readers! -TheAmateur

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Chapter Fifteen: Unconquerable

**1700 Hours, December 18, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Earth, Sol System**

**Old Mombasa, Kenya**

**Spartan-III Alex-G004**

This was one of those special times when I actually turned my air filters _on._ One; I wasn't in a sniper position in which I needed to be ever vigilant of any sudden flanking attacks or cloaked enemies, and two; the stink of all the Covenant corpses that had been lying in the sun for hours really wasn't your average perfume or air freshener.

After our op in the Ural Mountains we had reported to HighCom what we had learned in the Forerunner cartographer facility concerning the point of interest at Voi, a smaller town one hundred miles away from Mombasa. It had served as a market town and a crossroads between the larger cities of Mombasa and Nairobi. The higher-ups had said that they would 'look into the matter'. It was frustrating; we knew that 'looking into the matter' was HighCom and ONI's slang for 'Yeah, okay, we'll investigate one of these months when someone's free'. Turns out they had only _just_ sent forces to investigate, one month _after_ we warned them, but a large fleet of Covenant reinforcements, much larger than the last one, had already dropped out of slipspace. While the last one had blanketed out all over Earth, this new one had committed all of its forces to Eastern Africa, specifically the Kenyan savannah. One of the _first _places they had hit was—wait for the surprise! Wait for it!—Voi.

The UNSC garrison there was routed in minutes, reduced to initiating guerilla strikes in the shadows and isolated pockets of resistance. Voi airspace was _way_ too hot for aerial insertion and the Navy was busy retreating from the Covenant invasion fleet, ruling out orbital insertion. Our only option was to go in by land, and for that they had sent us back here to Mombasa, where apparently there was a large vehicle depot outside of the city. While there was still a lot of Covenant presence in the Mombasa area, the city's current strategic value had vanished with the invasion of Voi. Whatever the Forerunners had built near Voi was the only reason the Covenant had not glassed Earth yet, so naturally it was _our_ job to make sure they didn't find whatever it was.

The 77th Marine Regiment would be accompanying us to Voi and there we would meet up with the 117th Marine Regiment, which we had fought alongside with for a couple of weeks in Kiev after we left the Ural Mountains. The garrison in Voi desperately needed help, and we were going to be the cavalry. If we survived the one-hundred miles between here and the crossroads town, that is.

I had slept for most of the long pelican ride from Kiev to Old Mombasa and believe me; I needed it. In the field, soldiers were lucky to have four hours in one sitting, but I had gotten at least seven. I remember being gently shaken to a semi-conscious state by Sam, bless her heart, but Tyrone ended up slapping me to full awareness. "If you want more sleep then get yourself killed in this next op; you'll never be roused again," he said gruffly, "But then I'd be short a sharpshooter and your soul would be short an intact divine skeletal structure when _my_ soul comes up and beats _your_ soul's ass for getting itself killed in the first place."

"The moral of this elaborate tale; wake the hell up!" Robin summed Ty's rant up in a handful of words.

I grabbed my helmet from underneath the wall-seat I had been snoozing on and placed it over my head, sealing it. "Just in case anyone _else_ decides to jump onto the slap-the-sniper bandwagon," I explained, rolling my eyes to the heavens.

The pelican rocked several times as anti-air fire exploded in the air around us. The pilot in the cockpit twisted around in his seat and warned us that he was going to be dropping us momentarily. "I'm picking up COM chatter nearby. From what I'm hearing, there's a company of the 77th pinned down on the 141st block of Liberty Street that is about to be overrun. I can drop you near them or continue to the 77th's regimental HQ; it's your call."

Ty took less than a second to mull it over. "Gear up, ladies, we're gonna make some new jarhead friends," Tyrone declared, "Set us down at Liberty Street." The rest of my team sealed their helmets and inspected their weapons one last time, making sure that nothing would inhibit their ability to end an unlucky brute or jackal's life. Em also picked up her new present; a salvaged Weapon/Anti-Vehicle Model 6 Grindell/Galilean Nonlinear Rifle, or as it's more commonly referred to; a spartan laser.

The pelican tilted as it banked sharply to the right and rapidly descended, avoiding the intensifying AA fire. The Covenant here must have received reinforcements because we had taken out all of their anti-air batteries and wraiths when we had first dropped into Mombasa. But then again, that had been half a month ago. A lot happens in half a month.

The aft deployment ramp opened with a hiss, letting the afternoon sunlight flow into the ship, along with the familiar telltale stink of battle. Ty leapt to his feet and led us off the ship, thanking the pilot on our way out. We were on a smaller street adjacent to Liberty Street, but it was completely empty, save for the stray grunt here and there. That was surprising; if the Covenant were assaulting a UNSC position—which they _were_, we could all hear the heavy weaponsfire coming from the adjacent street—one would think that the area would be thick with the aliens.

"Alleyway—One o' clock!" Tyrone ordered. As one, we all headed for the closest small alley between two of the buildings separating us from Liberty Street. When we reached the alley, we saw a large group of brutes and dozens of grunts waiting at the other end behind glowing blue Covenant energy shields. A green-armored heavy-weapons grunt was manning a plasma cannon nestled in between the two shields, laying into the marines on the other side of Liberty Street.

"Frag out!" Em warned as she primed two anti-personnel fragmentation grenades in both hands and hurled them into the group of Covenant. The brutes immediately whipped around and opened fire, but were hindered by the grunts, who had begun to leap about desperately, gibbering in panic. The pair of frags detonated, sending out deadly shrapnel projectiles in every direction. Most of the grunts were shredded on the spot and the brutes' shields were all taken out. Robin and Sam took the surviving brutes out with short bursts from their BR55s. I brought up my M7 Caseless SMG, my alternate weapon of choice when not using my sniper rifle, and peppered the heavy weapons grunt's methane tank, incinerating the rest of the surviving grunts who had clustered around it.

"Clean 'em up," Tyrone then ordered. Normally we would wait until _after_ the battle to do clean-up detail, but in this situation it wouldn't do to have a surviving grunt which we had overlooked climb to its feet and take out one of our energy shields at an inopportune moment. The five of us drew our M6G magnum side-arms and set about executing any surviving Covenant. There were a few breathing grunts and a lone surviving brute. I put two rounds into the brute's skull, just to play it safe.

My team and I finished up and headed up to the Covenant shield defenses, peering into Liberty Street. This side of the large road was thick with Covenant ground forces and vehicles; brutes, jackals, and grunts were everywhere. The battle had kicked up a cloud of dust over the road, masking the other side, but when I switched to thermal imaging I could see the red shapes of a company's worth of marines desperately trying to repel the Covenant attackers. They must have eaten up a good chunk of the attacking forces—that would explain the absence of any Covenant on the other street—but they were still about to be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

"Everyone switch to thermal!" Ty yelled over the weaponsfire, "Robin, take the plasma cannon! Everyone else, on me!" With that, Ty led us over the Covenant defenses into the thick of the battle on Liberty Street. A hail of glowing blue plasma rounds soared over our heads as Robin redirected the aim of the plasma cannon, tearing into the Covenant in front of us. We all spread out, each of us taking on a group of the aliens in a different area to ease the pressure on the company of marines.

I sprinted on top of an overturned eighteen-wheeler and leaped off into the midst of a group of seven brutes. I landed on one of them, knocking it down to the ground. I ripped off its helmet and emptied half a mag into its face, spraying bodily matter and bone all over the place. The other six brutes turned and opened fire, showering the place I had been a split-second ago with spiker rounds. I used the dust storm to my advantage, weaving in and out from between the brutes while remaining partially hidden. I sprang up behind another brute and plunged my combat knife into the back of its neck, and then I swung the dying beast around into the hail of fire coming from the others. The spiker rounds tore into my makeshift shield's torso, finishing it off. I tossed the now-dead brute into its fellows, yanking out my knife as it flew through the air and knocked down another two brutes. A third brute who had dodged the corpse of its comrade went berserk and charged me, howling with vengeful fury. I shifted my weight and snapped my foot out, connecting with the brute's jaw. The blow jarred my entire leg, but it stunned the brute long enough for me to fire a short burst of bullets into its knees. The brute crashed to the ground, howling in agony. I knew that the knees were one of the most painful places on the human body to be shot; it seemed that same rule applied to Jiralhanae—the proper name of the brute species—as well. I walked over to the crippled alien and brought my foot crushing down on its skull, shattering it. I put the monster out of its misery with a shot from my magnum.

The other brute that had dodged the corpse had managed to sneak behind me while I was occupied with removing its friend from this life. It grabbed me from behind in a full nelson and brought me crashing down to the ground. It drew its fist back and slammed it into my chest, cracking my third and fourth ribs. Its three remaining comrades joined it as it drew its mauler sidearm and leveled it at my face. That was their mistake: bunching up like that. If they had been splayed out then I might not have lived to cheat death yet again. Just as the brutes were about to open fire, I saw a large silhouette barrel out of the dust, propelled by bright purplish-white thrusters. The hijacked wraith slammed into the four brutes, killing them all instantly. I just managed to spot Sam glancing at me from the driver's nest. Even though I couldn't see through her reflective blue faceplate, I could have sworn that she had winked at me.

"I could've gotten out of that myself, but thanks anyway," I said over the COM.

"Sure, Ace, whatever you say," Sam chuckled in reply.

My motion tracker suddenly began to pick up several hundred friendly IFF transponder signals coming from further down Liberty Street. "Guys—uh—I'm picking up a _lot_ of friendlies coming towards us from the east, are they—"

"I hear ya, Alex, they're another company of the 77th," Ty explained over the COM.

Sure enough, I could just make out the shapes of another whole company of marines advancing steadily down the street towards us. This ended up being crucial in our battle; a sizeable portion of the remaining Covenant attackers had to leave their fellows to combat these new arrivals.

"Either become two-dimensional or _move!"_ a voice shouted behind me. I ducked and rolled away, turning to see Em kneeling behind where I was, wielding the spartan laser and drawing a bead with its light on a target. I followed the flickering beam of red light with my eyes until I saw Em's target; a lone surviving hostile wraith tank about to open fire on a pair of individuals who were standing side-by-side on the sidewalk in front of a hardware store. I peered closer and cocked an eyebrow in surprise when I recognized the larger figure as an Elite. My team and I had learned of the alliance between our two races several days ago, but I didn't think that an Elite would actually fight directly _with_ one of us. Believing it was one thing, but actually _seeing_ it was pretty different.

As I watched, the spartan laser charged up and fired. A searing beam of brilliant crimson leapt from the laser and bored a hole straight through the wraith just as it began to fire. The wraith exploded in an inferno of flames and fell apart into several smoldering pieces.

A silence then came over Liberty Street. Robin, who had abandoned the plasma cannon to help Ty get out from under heavy enemy, joined us along with Sam. Tyrone motioned for us to follow him. Walking abreast of each other, we headed for the other side of Liberty Street where the shell-shocked marines of the formerly pinned company were emerging from the shops and buildings that made up the block. A strong westerly started to blow, clearing the clouds of dust and debris that the battle had kicked up, revealing piles of Covenant corpses and the shells of destroyed wraiths and ghosts.

We stepped over all of the bodies and reached the sidewalk, where the marine and the Elite were still standing next to each other. I recognized the marine as Captain McCandlish, the CO of Delta Company. We had fought with him and his men at the parking garage in New Mombasa at the beginning of the first invasion. I noted the Elite's white armor; he was an ultra, a very dangerous member of their military.

"Your timing is impeccable," McCandlish nodded to us, "We probably would not be conversing right now had you been later than you were. We owe you one."

"Well you could repay us by helping us clear a path to the UNSC vehicle depot just a few klicks to the north in the outskirts of the city," Ty replied as he shook the marine captain's hand.

McCandlish cocked an eyebrow in surprise and was about to reply when Alpha Company, the other company of marines that had arrived recently, met up with Delta. Their commanding officer, a tall Native American man named Hiawatha, approached us. He gave my team a respectful nod, and then gave McCandlish a short embrace. "Fate has another journey for us, brother," the other captain said, "Major Sutherland has ordered the entire regiment to advance to the vehicle depot near here. Not just one company, _everyone_. We are leaving this city."

"_Leaving_ Mombasa?" McCandlish sounded nearly shocked, "After all the hell we went through for half a month we're just supposed to _leave?_"

"Mombasa's strategic value is now nil. What we all need to be worrying about is Voi. If the Covenant get what they want in Voi, then nothing will stop them from glassing Earth," Tyrone explained to the company commander. We all explained why the Covenant was so interested in Voi and why we all needed to leave Mombasa in order to defend the smaller town. Convinced, the two company commanders organized their men, getting them geared up for yet another offensive. It took us the rest of the day to push through five kilometers of damaged city.

The day was almost over by the time we reached the vehicle depot at the same time as Bravo and Charlie Companies. The depot itself was a large walled compound set in the northern outskirts of the city. A production facility was set in one corner of the compound, while the rest was filled with warthogs and pelicans. Major Sutherland boarded one of the pelicans with the rest of the HQ staff, while the others were filled up with Bravo and Charlie Company personnel. Unfortunately, there weren't enough pelicans for the other two companies, so we would be accompanying them over land in warthogs.

Most of Alpha and Delta Companies climbed into the bigger troop transport warthogs, but a large number boarded the more battle-ready LRVs. My team took a single warthog LRV. Robin took the wheel while I rode shotgun and Ty manned the LAAG turret in the back. Sam managed to squeeze into the middle between the driver's seat and mine and Em was perched between the LAAG and the front of the vehicle. It was slightly cramped, but it would work for the time being. Once everyone had saddled up, the gates of the compound were blown open and the two hundred-odd warthogs that made up the remainder of the 77th Marine Regiment sped out into the sunset, bound for Voi, the place where our fate and that of humanity's would be decided.


	17. Chapter 16: Mount Up!

Chapter Sixteen: Mount Up!

**0200 Hours, December 19, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Earth, Sol System**

**Tsavo Highway—En Route to Voi, Kenya**

**Spartan-III Alex-G004**

The hum of the warthog's engine had faded into the general din of the background. With two hundred-odd _other_ warthogs speeding down the same road beside and around ours, I had learned to just tune the sounds out after a while. We were part of a huge vehicular assault force made up of Alpha and Delta Companies of the 77th Marine Regiment and we were bound for the smaller crossroads town of Voi. The Covenant had fully taken over the city of Mombasa after we had departed, but we learned that HighCom had initiated the Hammerdown Protocol on the entire city, nuking the hell out of it and wiping out all of the Covenant forces in the area. We weren't about to let them use Mombasa as a staging ground for other invasions. Still, we had fought tooth and nail for that city for weeks, and it felt...wrong...to simply abandon and destroy it so suddenly, even if it was the right course of action.

We had been driving down the Tsavo Highway, a road that was largely used to travel from Mombasa to Voi, and to other cities further inland. I also knew that it came close to Crow's Nest, the old UNSC base that was being used as our new Command HQ after Mombasa's fall. Even so, I had heard whisperings of a Covenant assault that was happening on that base, but I had no idea what the outcome was, or if it was even over. The sun had set while we continued down the highway, forcing us to use night vision to spot any hostiles. More than once we had come across banshees and phantoms, but the combined firepower of dozens of M41 LAAGs was too much even for the superior Covenant vehicles.

Now, it was sometime very early in the morning, and, other than the hums of the warthogs' engines, everything was silent. Some marines in the other warthogs chatted quietly with one another, but they were in the minority. Most of the men had decided to take advantage of the lull in Covenant attacks and get some rest. My team had originally taken an LRV warthog with the LAAG in the rear, but it had been damaged during our escape from Mombasa, so we jacked a troop transport model warthog and managed to install the LAAG from our last one into our new one. The only real difference was that Ty and Em had significantly more space to move around. Tyrone and Em had both strapped themselves in to the floor of the back of the warthog to prevent them from tumbling off and had gone to sleep. Sam had also nodded off to sleep and was resting on my shoulder, leaving Robin and I the only ones still awake in our team's vehicle.

Robin yawned for the umpteenth time as he nudged the wheel slightly to the left to avoid hitting a pothole. "So how's the girl been treating you?" he asked me right when I was starting to lose my fragile hold on consciousness, gesturing to Sam with his head.

I took a break from oiling the insides of my sniper rifle to talk with my old friend. "If we survive this war, you should seriously give it a try. Makes life easier."

Robin was about to reply when our warthog's COM crackled to life. "This is Corporal Jamison with the advance teams, we've spotted another pair of banshees heading your way," the voice of one of the marines with the forward recon group that was three klicks ahead of the rest of us issued from the unit. I sighed, knowing that I had more work to do.

"Acknowledged, Jamison," Captain McCandlish's voice answered, "Team Rapier, take those birds out."

"Aye, sir," Robin answered for me. I reassembled my sniper rifle in exactly four seconds and switched the scope to night vision. I heard the familiar whine of a Covenant banshee whistling through the air. I aimed high, waiting for them to appear. A second ticked by, and then another. I heard the familiar sound of rapidly firing plasma cannons right before the telltale shapes of the pair of banshees soared over the hills ahead of us and pressed forward, no doubt to report their findings to their superiors. I adjusted my sights and lined up with the target, compensating for the wind, the speed of our warthog and that of the banshees, and even slightly for the Coriolis Effect. I held my breath to steady my aim. The sensation every sniper felt in that moment before a kill—a calm, cool sense of peace and purpose; the sense I always felt before I knew it was the right time to fire—came over me. I loosed off a round and watched as it sailed through the air and slipped through the tiny space between the base of the banshee and the rest of its chassis, burying itself in the upper chest of the brute piloting it. The unfortunate brute fell out of the vehicle, tumbling like a rag doll to the ground. The banshee itself, now lacking a pilot to keep it in the air, fell out of the sky and crashed to the ground with a brilliant explosion.

I quickly turned my attention to the second banshee, but just as I fired our warthog hit a large enough bump in the road to jerk it. My shot went wide. I swore a bit louder than I expected to as the banshee zoomed past us. _You're not getting off this easy, bud_ I said to myself as I reacquired my aim and did the next best thing possible in this situation; my shot hit the banshee's right thruster and destroyed it. Without its thruster, the Covenant aircraft spun out of control and fell into a nose dive, ending with a one-way ticket to oblivion.

Robin twisted in his seat briefly to survey my handiwork and whistled approvingly. "If warfare were an art, you'd be bloody Rembrandt," he chuckled.

The COM was filled with remarks and exclamations of "Kick-ass shot, kid!", "Holy shit, that was fucking amazing!", and "Can I have your autograph?" until McCandlish and Hiawatha called for radio silence once more.

"So, where were we again?" Robin asked.

I yawned again, settling into my seat to get comfortable. "_I_ was about to go to sleep," I mumbled, "and _you_ were about to talk to me again after the war is over…"

I heard Robin say something in response, but I couldn't hear it coherently. My eyelids felt like lead weights which even my augmented muscles couldn't hold up. Ah well, what harm could closing them for a few seconds do?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Alex, wake the hell up!"

I cracked open my eyes and groaned as the harsh African sunlight tore into my retinas. A strong hand came out of nowhere and smacked the back of my helmet, jerking me into full consciousness. I looked around and saw a familiar scene; the Kenyan savannah stretching out as far as the eye could see in every direction, the Tsavo Highway winding its way into the horizons behind and in front of us, and the hundreds of other warthogs carrying the marines of Alpha and Delta Companies all around us. The one different thing was the groups of banshees strafing us, peppering the ground with plasmafire and debris. Several warthogs were hit, exploding in brilliant conflagrations of red and yellow flame. Most of the unfortunate marines riding them were killed instantly, but a few lucky ones were able to leap off in time. They were picked up by other vehicles.

"All units, your goddamn LAAGs aren't bloody water pistols, _use them!_" Captain McCandlish's voice burst out of the COM.

Ty was already firing our warthog's new turret, dealing damage to the Covenant aircraft. The M41 LAAGs on the dozens of other LRV warthogs erupted to life, taking down several banshees, but not nearly all of them. Even so, they must have decided that continuing their assault on us would result in heavy losses because they all banked sharply and flew off into the west, towards Voi.

"What the hell was that?!" I exclaimed, sitting up and checking my sniper rifle, scanning the skies for any remaining hostiles.

"Covenant banshees, came out of nowhere and strafed us," Ty explained, "We didn't take very many casualties, but the Covenant now know that we're coming."

"This is Alpha C-Seven-Seven," Captain Hiawatha's voice broadcasted over an open COM channel, one that every UNSC unit in range could hear, "All units west of Voi, be advised that you have banshees heading right for you."

The COM crackled for a few seconds before another voice, this one gruff with a distinct southern accent who identified himself as Gunnery Sergeant Stacker said, "We read ya loud 'n clear, sir! You have a rough count?"

"Enough to make us sweat," Hiawatha replied.

"Alright, I'll take yer word for it. Stacker out," the COM fell silent.

We then received a garbled transmission from Major Sutherland, asking us to 'speed it up'. Apparently Bravo and Charlie Companies had been in Voi for several hours now and were pinned down far enough in the town to raise concern. They weren't in any immediate danger and they had also managed to rescue some of the marines who had been trapped there since the Covenant's invasion of the town, and at least relieve the pressure on the other pockets of resistance further inside the town, but they were still trapped and would be overwhelmed if they didn't get reinforcements soon. Based on their transmissions, we knew that our first objective was to take out a cluster of anti-air batteries to allow the 117th Marine Regiment, our reinforcements from Kiev, to land.

McCandlish called for all units to get ready for some intense fighting; Voi was just over the next hill. Sam and I inspected our weapons one last time while Em hefted her Jackhammer onto her back. "Slow and steady, ladies, slow 'n steady," Ty murmured loud enough for us to hear.

Just as we reached the final hill before Voi, the COM crackled to life once more. "Commander, this is ONI Recon one-eleven. The cruisers above—they found—" a fuzzy male voice said, but there was interference on the channel which smothered some of his words.

"Say again, Recon? You're breaking up," an authoritative female voice answered on another end. I shared a startled glance with Sam and Robin, recognizing the voice of Commander Miranda Keyes, daughter of the near-legendary Captain Jacob Keyes. She had been leading the defense of Mombasa in the beginning of the invasion, but when the Covenant Assault Carrier over the city had executed its slipspace jump which destroyed New Mombasa, Commander Keyes' ship—the In Amber Clad—had pursued it. Keyes and her crew hadn't been seen since, but now it seemed that she'd been back for some time.

"There's something in the crater, ma'am. Something beneath the storm," the ONI reconnaissance operative replied.

I frowned, trying to make sense of his words. Crater? What crater? And what did he mean when he mentioned a storm? The sky was clear and the sun was shining…then we crested the hill and saw the broad vista of the town of Voi and the large cliffs beyond it. The lake of Voi had been destroyed, glassed away by Covenant cruisers which were still hovering in the air far off over the crater in the distance. _Wait a second…_ I rubbed my eyes and peered past Voi with my sniper scope. On the opposite side of the town were the large cliffs, and beyond that the Kenyan savannah. At least that's what it was supposed to be; what I saw was Voi, the cliffs, then a colossal crater bored into the earth beyond the cliffs dozens of kilometers wide. The crater had obviously been glassed out of the savannah; smoke and ash still hung in the air in great clouds. In the center of the crater was a large pedestal and on it was an alien ship of some sort, easily several kilometers tall and wide and shaped like a tetrahedron. My gaze turned to the sky above the crater, where a huge storm had brewed; a bell-shaped conglomeration of dark storm clouds crackling with lightning and thunder hovering over just the crater, but giving way to blue sky when they reached the savannah. It was _not_ natural.

"That's gotta be Forerunner," Robin whispered, in awe of the massive destruction that had taken place out in the savannah.

"You know what this means, right?" Sam asked us, a note of anxiety creeping into her voice, "_That_ is what the Cartographer in the Ural Mountains was talking about, the Forerunner installation near Voi. The Covenant have already _found_ it, so now Earth is running only on borrowed time."

"No use worrying about that now," Ty shut us all up with a single glare, "We've got a battle to win first."

"Commander, I can see most of it now," ONI Recon 111 reported over the COM, obviously referring to the crater and the Forerunner installation within it, "Readings are all over the EM spectrum."

"Roger that, Recon, shut off your gear and fall back. I'll monitor from Kilo 23," Commander Keyes replied.

Our vehicular force drew nearer and nearer to the town until we reached and funneled into the small ravine that formed the western entrance to the town. By now our warthogs had reached the head of the column. A small Covenant force was guarding the gate to the town, supported by a wraith tank. I almost felt sorry for the sorely outmatched aliens as we tore them to pieces. Almost.

We drove through the entrance tunnels and emerged into a large open space between two large factory buildings. This area was swarming with hostiles; we came under fire the moment we left the tunnels. The troop transport warthogs all skidded to a stop, kicking up large plumes of dust, and all of the marines on them leaped off, taking cover behind the vehicles. We did likewise.

I pulled out my M7 SMG and peppered a group of advancing grunts while my teammates took out more distant targets. There was an explosion close by from a wraith tank's ordinance, sending one of the warthogs sky high in flames. The LRV warthogs from our column had been towards the rear, for the most part, and now they reached our position. Working together as a group, the warthogs ran straight over the dozens of grunts and brutes in the area while their gunners took out the rest. They then proceeded to clear the area around the factory building, an arms manufacturer, to our right. The building itself had been devastated by a Covenant bombing run, but it's observation tower was still intact.

The Elite that had been fighting with McCandlish's company, Ovaltine or whatever his name was, leaped over the warthog behind us and crouched next to Sam, regarding us with a cool irritation. "Silence your weapons, Demons, and follow me. We are going to utilize this place," he gestured to the factory to our right, "as our center of operations. The humans will keep the Loyalist scum away from us while _we_ cleanse the building's inside."

"Any idea what we'll be facing in there?" Ty asked.

The Elite—'Ovarumee, _that's_ what his name was—shook his head. "That is the reason why your field masters send only _us_ in. A wise decision, one I would have made as well."

"Lord Hood? We made it," the voice of Commander Keyes issued from our COM units. I raised an eyebrow at that; if Keyes was leading her forces into Voi from the other direction of us, then that meant that Crow's Nest base must have fallen.

"Music to my ears, Commander," the older, more authoritative voice of Fleet Admiral Terrence Hood, the Commander in Chief of the UNSC Defense Force, replied, "What of the Ark?"

"Fully uncovered, sir," Keyes's answer was.

"So they're calling this the _Ark_, now?" I wondered aloud as I gazed back out over the crater.

"For your race's sake, I hope not," 'Ovarumee said, his voice heavy with foreboding. Before I could ask him what he meant by that, the conversation over the COM continued.

"Then we don't have much time," Lord Hood declared finally, "Marines... The Prophet of Truth doesn't know it yet, but he's about to get kicked right off his throne. You will take our city back and drive our enemy into the grave they've been so happily digging. One final effort is all that remains. Godspeed."

"Come," 'Ovarumee stood, gesturing for us to follow, "We must go."

"One final effort, eh?" Robin repeated Hood's final line.

"I think this is the eleventh 'One Final Effort' we've had so far," Em grumbled as she hefted her Jackhammer rocket launcher.

"Well it's like a fatass eating hotdogs, there's always room for one more," Tyrone said, rolling his eyes, "Team Rapier, _on your feet!_ We have a human race to save."


	18. Chapter 17: Doubts

Chapter Seventeen: Doubts

**1200 Hours, December 19, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Earth, Sol System**

**Voi, Kenya**

**Spartan-III Alex-G004**

"Quiet, cut the chatter," Ty whispered as 'Ovarumee pushed open one of the side entrances to the ruined armory that would soon be our command post.

We all switched to our private COM channel, allowing 'Ovarumee in as well, to avoid making noise with our voices.

We all edged into the building, silent as shadows and thoughts. The room we emerged in was the main assembly room, a huge open space complete with an observation tier, catwalks and conveyor belts, and containers of now-solid metal and half-finished weapons. Most of the roof and half of the walls were gone, blasted away by the Covenant bombardment that had devastated the place. We moved slowly through the assembly lines and conveyor belts, keeping our heads and upper bodies low. Sam, who usually specialized as our scout, took point while the Ultra brought up the rear. We were halfway across the large room when I heard something, a slight flittering, buzzing sound. Sam stiffened as well; she had heard it too.

There was nothing we could do right now, so we kept on moving.

"This smells like an ambush," Em gripped her Jackhammer tighter, nervously eyeing upwards around the walls and ceiling.

"What should we do, then?" Robin directed the question at Tyrone.

"Spring the ambush," Ty answered matter-of-factly. 'Ovarumee gave a deep rumbling chuckle from the back of his throat.

Then I heard the buzzing sounds again. "There it is again!" I whisper-shouted over our COM channel, "Do you guys hear that?!"

The sound came a third time, much more audible this time. It sounded tinny, as if it was echoing off of something. As one, all of our eyes turned to the large ventilator shaft running the length of the assembly room where the buzzing noise was coming from.

"I know that sound…" 'Ovarumee murmured. His mandibles clicked twice as older memories came back to him, "Drones…"

As if on cue, the ventilation grilles burst open and a swarm of at least forty insectoid, man-sized…_insects_ was the best word to describe them…flew out of the spaces. If you took a very intelligent locust, made it almost human-sized, put it in armor and gave it a plasma pistol, you'd have a Covenant Drone. Take twenty to fifty of those things and you'd have a Drone swarm. Some of the drones also wielded needlers, the smaller Covenant weapons that fired small explosive glowing violet spikes. They would bury themselves in flesh and armor and detonate if they were hit by weaponsfire. I knew this from experience; an exploding needler round had blown away a sizeable portion of my chest during our op in the Ural Mountains.

The swarm of drones fanned out, flitting across the ceiling with their wings and showering us with plasmafire and needler rounds, communicating with each other in their shrill clicking language.

"Ignorant insects…" 'Ovarumee hissed contemptuously as he raised his carbine and began to take out the flying Covenant warriors one by one with well-placed shots. We followed suit and laid into the drones.

I loaded my SMG and fired a wide spray into the drones' midst, sending several crashing to the ground. I emptied a mag and reloaded, but I didn't fire again; I would need my ammo again soon. I tried to think of what we had learned about drones during our training on Onyx. I winced, thinking about Onyx—several days ago while my team and I were fighting in Kiev, an ONI operative had contacted us and informed us that there had been a battle there in the beginning of November. The only survivors, Human or Covenant, had been the crew of the UNSC Dusk, a prowler that had fought there with Battlegroup Stalingrad. According to them, the entire planet had disintegrated into Forerunner Sentinels, trillions of them. Lt. Commander Ambrose and Senior Chief Petty Officer Mendez, the two men who had headed up our training had been declared MIA along with the three Spartan-III teams; Saber, Katana, and Gladius respectively, that had been on Onyx at the time. Another fifteen spartans lost…

I shook my head, dragging myself back to reality. I remembered that the Covenant usually employed drones as quick support or as feints. They were only rarely used as a straight-up attack force and were almost _always_ used as a…_distraction_…

I snapped my gaze up to the observation tier in time to see twin green glows coming from two hulking forms which had emerged from the shadows above. "Hunters! Get down!" I screamed as the Hunter pair opened fire with their fuel-rod cannons. We all dove for cover as the twin beams of crackling green energy tore into the machinery where we had previously crouched a split-second ago.

Hunters were an enigmatic Covenant race. They joined the Covenant because they were forced to; their true political motivation remains unknown. From what I had heard, most of them had joined the Covenant Separatists with the Elites, but some had remained with the Loyalists. These attacking Hunters were obviously of the latter category. They were also the most unique race; they had no skeleton, internal organs, or tissues; they were made entirely of hundreds of tiny Lekgolo worms bound together into a colony. They were incredibly powerful and resilient, and they wore a very thick bluish armor which stopped almost all conventional weaponsfire dead in its tracks. Eventually when a colony of Lekgolo worms grew too big, it split into two colonies and formed a Hunter pair like the one attacking us. Even though the two Hunters were separate, they were still connected in some way. When one member of a Hunter pair was killed, the other would always go into a vengeful rage, like a berserking brute times ten. I noted the spikes fixed upon the Hunters' armor on the shoulders, identifying them as bond brothers.

"Alex! Take them down now!" Ty shouted over to me. I unslung my sniper rifle and quickly centered in on one of the Hunters. I loosed off a round, which cut through the air and buried itself into one of the Hunters' 'heads'. Orange blood spurted from the wound and the massive creature turned to me, firing its fuel rod beam again. I fired three more times, emptying the four-round magazine. I ejected the spent mag and slammed a new one in, firing one last shot at the wounded Hunter. With that last round, the Hunter gave out a groan and collapsed to the floor, dead. Its bond brother, the other Hunter, let out a loud growl of deafening rage. It leaped down from the observation tier onto the ground floor with a loud crash, coming at us like a juggernaut, ripping machinery out of its way and stomping the ground so hard that it cracked and splintered.

"Uh…I think you _really_ pissed it off," Robin murmured, fidgeting nervously as I emptied my current mag into the oncoming Hunter, but to no avail. It would have taken too long to reload, so I wielded my sniper rifle like a stave and prepared for some close, and most likely very short, combat. Just as the Hunter executed a final leap towards us, a blazing rocket came out of nowhere and connected with the Hunter, resulting in an almighty explosion accompanied with bits of blackened armor and fried Lekgolo worms falling from the sky. Em stood up, reloading her Jackhammer. "Kinda felt sorry for the poor guy," she grunted, "the whole epic 'charge for the fallen comrade' was almost straight out of one of those war movies—hated to put a sudden fiery end to it."

"Bullshit," all of us, minus the Elite, said almost in unison.

"Yeah, okay, you're right," Em shrugged, "I enjoyed every second of it, so what?"

"Good shot, I hope that's the last of those things we see for a while," Ty said. With the Hunters gone, we all concentrated on wiping out the drones, which were still buzzing overhead and raining plasma and needler rounds upon us. Within another minute, they were all on the floor lying motionless in growing puddles of their own life essence.

We deemed the rest of the huge room clear and quickly crossed to the other side, ducking through a doorway that led to the rest of the building. We all split up into teams of two; Sam and I were told to secure the observation tower of the armory, the place where the actual CP would be set up while the others cleared the rest of the building to ensure that the HQ staff wouldn't have any unwelcome surprises.

Sam and I jogged down several hallways until we reached the stairwell leading up to the observation tower. Not surprisingly, when we broke into the top of the tower which provided a broad vista of most of the town, we immediately came under fire from the five brutes and dozen grunts in the room. Sam and I quickly leaped into the room and split up, circumnavigating the circular room from both sides. I took out two grunts in my way with a burst from my SMG and reached my first brute. It let out a savage growl and grabbed my wrist. When I had fought Elites, we had been evenly matched, but a Brute's strength was superior even to mine. Its eyes gleamed triumphantly as it realized this, but with my free hand—which it hadn't bothered to grab—I struck the brute's arm, breaking it in three places. As it howled at the pain, briefly letting its guard down, I flicked out my combat knife and drew a line across its throat. Sam had already taken two brutes down and was overcoming a third, so I turned my attention to the grunts. Once we took the brutes out, they would all panic and scatter, trying to flee. Better to wipe 'em up now rather than spend precious time hunting them down in the hallways. I moved from grunt to grunt with my knife in one hand and my magnum in the other, plunging steel into some while taking out other grunts' methane tanks with well-placed shots. After a minute, the observation room was devoid of all life, save our own.

We heard some sporadic weaponsfire elsewhere in the armory as the other teams made contact with more Covenant and destroyed them. Eventually we all reported 'all clear' to each other, allowing Tyrone to call it in to McCandlish and Hiawatha. "Company Commanders, this is Sierra-083; the CP is secure."

"Acknowledged, Team Rapier, we're coming in," McCandlish responded. I crossed over to the side of the observation room which overlooked the rest of the town.

"Kilo 23, this is _Forward Unto Dawn._ I need a sit-rep, Commander," Fleet Admiral Hood's voice issued from our COM units, using the universal channel.

"Atmospheric disturbance is intensifying above the artifact, Admiral," Commander Keyes' response was. I scanned the skies, seeing if I could spot the pelican that she was monitoring the area in. I also noticed that Keyes was right; the unnatural bowl-shaped storm hanging over the gigantic crater in the distance had darkened even more, whirling around with more force.

"And Sierra-117?" Hood asked. Sam and I shared a glance with each other.

"Moving as fast as he can, sir. I know he'll get it done," Commander Keyes declared, killing the channel.

I got goose bumps when I heard Hood say Sierra-117. _He_ was here, John-117, the Master Chief, the last Spartan-II. He was a legend of the UNSC military. I had never met him yet, but maybe I would get the chance soon. I gazed out at the other side of Voi, at the eastern entrance. The Traxus Facility was where the other assault was taking place; I could see the smoke and explosions from here. I could also see a pair of Covenant AA batteries firing their ordinance into the sky. Our assault force would take out the western one, while Keyes' assault force from the east would take down the eastern one, allowing our fleet to attack the Covenant in the crater.

The 117th Marine Regiment had been deployed several klicks west of the town rather than risk an aerial insertion; they would be coming into Voi on our coattails. I continued to observe the ongoing battle, not saying anything. Sam put her arm around my shoulder and we just stood there, gazing out into the face of war, unflinching, unblinking.

"You know," a thought occurred to me, making me grin, "I seem to remember, back in New Mombasa, you saying that you'd give me a kiss after that battle was over."

Sam gave a soft laugh. "We must have forgotten. On the other hand, we did about a million times that in the Ural Mountains that one night…but I guess I still owe you one," she mused, slipping her hand into mine.

I moved to take my helmet off, but at that moment the entrance to the observation room opened and the HQ staff hurried in, swiftly dragging tables over to suitable spots and getting their gear set up, transforming the observation room into a full-blown command post. Captain Hiawatha had been chosen to head up the CP until Major Sutherland could be extracted along with Bravo and Charlie Companies. Alpha Company would hang back and keep the entrance and CP secure from Covenant flanking attacks while Delta Company would forge ahead and take out the western AA battery. Meanwhile, the 117th would be arriving in less than an hour, and their support would be invaluable.

_Damn it…_ I sighed, yet another moment ruined.

"Hey lovebirds," Ty's voice came through our COM systems on our private channel, "Stop planning your next date and get down here with the rest of us, we've got a war to win, remember?"

"Come on, Ace, there'll be another time," Sam grabbed my arm and led me down the stairs.

I hoped with all my heart that she was right. The war was changing; I could feel it in my gut and see it in every marine I fought alongside with. The war was reaching a critical point, a climax. The only question was which side it would consume when that critical point snapped. Would it consume the Covenant Loyalists, or us? And even though only one side would be consumed, _neither_ side would be unscathed. I wish I could say that Sam was right, but I honestly didn't know if both Sam and I or even Humanity would be able to ride out the oncoming storm.


	19. Chapter 18: Ominous Encounters

Chapter Eighteen: Ominous Encounters

**1430 Hours, December 19, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Earth, Sol System**

**Voi, Kenya**

**Spartan-III Alex-G004**

"2nd Platoon, move up!" I heard McCandlish shout over the din of the raging battle. My team had been fighting alongside Delta Company for an hour and a half now, cutting a path through the town to reach the northern outskirts on the edge of the cliffs where the Covenant AA batteries were.

Admiral Hood had mustered as many ships as he could with the intention of initiating a low-level strike on the Covenant forces in the crater. A low-level strike was all he was capable of; the Covenant reinforcements led by the Prophet of Truth which had arrived a week ago had pretty much smashed the UNSC Home Fleet. Our surviving ships had gone to ground to save themselves from destruction. The catch of our little fight here in Voi; Hood had already given the green light for the strike and we had to take out those Covenant AA batteries _before_ his forces arrived, or else they'd get shot out of the sky before they had a chance to blink.

I had resorted to taking up positions behind the main force of the company, usually in the window of an abandoned building, or atop a pile of wrecked cars; basically anything that I could have a clear view of the defending Covenant forces from. Tyrone and Captain McCandlish had agreed that my skills were better put to use taking out Covenant commanders to promote chaos amongst their ranks while the main force of the company broke through. I would pop a few brute captains, the Covenant's defenses would be weakened, and then Delta Company would smash through, attacking the next Covenant hotspot. This cycle had continued all the way down the main road from the command post and onto a dirt and gravel pathway leading to the edge of the cliffs at the northernmost area of the town. It would be much easier to push to the AA batteries from the cliffs rather than pushing through the rest of the town.

The going was actually pretty easy _now._ After all, the defending Covenant forces had a good portion of their troops in the east fighting Commander Keyes' force, led by the Master Chief. They had pushed through most of the Traxus Facility on their side of town and were nearly at their AA battery. The 117th Marine Regiment had also arrived a short while ago, and they had been fighting through the center of the town, trying to link up with Bravo and Charlie Companies. The bulk of the Covenant defenders were trying—and failing, I might add—to repel them.

Now, Delta Company had advanced at least two klicks up this dirt and gravel path which wound between mechanical factories and the metal walls which ran through most of the town. We were almost at the cliffs, but we really needed to step it up; Admiral Hood's ships were getting close. The marines had all taken cover behind the piles of debris that littered the pathway, returning fire and diving between piles to advance. It wasn't the best form of attack, but it was working so far.

I had holed up in the second floor of an abandoned warehouse. A section of the northern wall had been blown out, giving me a pretty good view of the Covenant defenses. I had gone prone and had been taking out brute leaders for nearly ten minutes now.

A particle energy beam snapped out from a hidden jackal sniper's beam rifle and drilled into the ceiling behind me. I quickly took out the particularly elusive brute captain who I had been playing cat and mouse with for a couple of minutes and tried to find the spot where the beam rifle shot had come from. "Delta Company, this is Eagle-Eye, they have a sniper out there somewhere; watch your heads until I can take him down," I reported into the universal COM channel.

"Acknowledged, Eagle-Eye, good hunting," Captain McCandlish replied.

Another beam rifle shot sprang out from the Covenant-held defenses, this time searing the armor on my left arm. Way too close for comfort. I snapped my aim over to where the shot had come and spotted a clump of bushes and shrubs. I fired two quick shots into those bushes and was rewarded by the sight of a now-one-armed jackal springing up and leaping out of sight. I swore quietly, knowing that I hadn't scored the kill, but at least I had taken off its arm and destroyed its ability to snipe. "Sniper down," I reported.

"Good shot, Eagle-Eye," McCandlish said, "Get down here; we're going to be moving forward momentarily."

I slung my sniper rifle over my back and leaped off the edge of the building. I free fell for a split second, then tucked my head between my knees and executed a quick roll as I hit the ground, absorbing the shock of impact. I sprinted forward past several clumps of marines and dove behind the large pile of debris where Captain McCandlish was, along with Lt. Hollard, his executive officer, and 'Ovarumee.

McCandlish turned to me, ducking as a hail of spiker rounds sailed into and over the debris, thudding into the ground behind us. "We've made admirable progress here, but it's not enough. Hood's ships are too close; we are not going to reach the AA batteries in time."

I cocked an eyebrow, waiting for the Captain to explain his plan. After all, no officer would explain to his men that there was no possible way to win without having an idea.

"I'm sending your team in ahead to the battery while we keep the Covenant busy here. It's our best, and quite frankly our _only_ shot," McCandlish explained.

"We won't make it to the AA battery in time via this route, so you and your team will be taking an…alternate…means of approach," Lt. Hollard finished for McCandlish, "Your team has already been briefed and is waiting for you back at the main road. Double time it back there and link up with them. Take that battery down!"

I stood up and sprinted past the advancing marines back down the dirt path towards the road which we had fought our way off of not too long ago, dodging heavy enemy fire. I got there in less than a minute, finding the rest of my team waiting for me next to an open manhole. I glanced at them, and then back at the manhole. "Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me…"

"Yeah, Alex, it's actually _all_ a big joke," Tyrone rolled his eyes, "See, Hood's ships really _aren't_ coming; it was all a fabrication just to get you to jump into the sewers, but you found us out! Man, if only I had half the—"

"Alright, alright!" I exclaimed, stopping Ty before his rant picked up steam, "Doesn't mean I have to freakin' _enjoy_ it, get off my back."

Ty suppressed a chuckle, gesturing for us to drop through the hole in the road. I jumped down after Sam and Robin. The sewer pipe wasn't running with water right now, thank the powers that be, but there was still a small stream of unmentionables collected at the bottom. My air filters went right back _on._ Tyrone dropped in last. We all gathered around Ty as he took out his datapad and opened up the blueprints of the Voi sewer lines which McCandlish had sent him. He studied them for a second and turned around to orient the map. "There should be a ventilation grille close-by…we're gonna shoot for that. We have to hurry; Hood and his ships are gonna be here in minutes. Triple-time it, let's go!"

The five of us sprang to our feet and set off down the sewer pipe heading northeast. Everything went according to plan until we ran into a major obstacle; part of the streets above had caved in from the Covenant's initial attack on the town, completely blocking off our pipe. We had to backtrack several hundred yards to a junction in the lines and head east for a while to circumvent the wreckage, but we _did_ get around it.

Our COM units crackled to life again. The voice of a Naval Officer issued forth on the universal channel. "All Brute cruisers are pulling back to Truth's ship. Winds inside the storm just hit 200 kilometers per hour. Energy cascades all over the artifact!"

"Oh man, something is _definitely_ happening out in the crater right now," Robin murmured as we continued down the eastward pipe, moving towards the next junction, where we would turn north.

"Admiral, a single Covenant ship has slipped in-system!" the voice of Commander Keyes reported to Admiral Hood. That provoked a few frowns and raised eyebrows from us; was this ship just a straggler? The whole thing was just strange…

Admiral Hood obviously shared this sentiment. "Just one?" he sounded surprised and wary, "What's its range and position?"

"Above the artifact, inside the orbital line. Seems to be holding steady," Keyes responded.

"The attack will proceed as planned, Commander," Hood made up his mind, "We're not going to get another shot at Truth."

"Sir, yes sir," Keyes said, and then the channel went quiet once more.

We reached the next junction in the sewer pipes and veered off to the north. The pipe continued on for a distance, but we could all see daylight at the end; we were looking at our ventilation grille. Our exit.

"Team Rapier, Hood's attack is _imminent,_ step it up!" McCandlish warned us via the COM.

We ran as fast as we could and reached the ventilation grille at the end of the pipe in seconds. The end of the pipe we were in ran all the way down the length of Voi and protruded from the cliff face below the spot where the AA battery was located. My eyes widened as I gazed at the unnatural electrical storm over the crater outside; it had swelled to several times its original size, now covering all of Voi. Thunder cracked overhead and a steady rainfall had begun.

Tyrone snapped his foot out and struck the grille with a crushing kick. The thin metal crumpled and fell away, tumbling down all the way to the savannah several hundred meters below. I shimmied out last after all of my teammates had already gone. I edged out of the pipe and swung myself up on top. I then straightened up and climbed up the small stretch of cliff face to the top, reaching the edge and pulling myself over. My teammates had already sprinted forward and attacked the AA battery directly. I made my way through the piles of boulders and shrubbery and saw the AA battery, situated on a tall hill right on the edge of the cliffs. I also caught sight of the other AA battery on a similar hill some distance down the cliffs. Both were still operational and were continually firing their huge plasma bolts into the sky.

Ty led the charge with a raw-throated yell. I hung back and systematically took down the jackal snipers hiding on the battery's upper tier. The surprised pack of brutes guarding the battery was caught off guard, not expecting an attack from the cliffs of all places. Ty crushed the first brute's skull with a devastating blow to the back of its head. The brute's comrade who had been standing next to it whipped around to face its attacker, but Ty fired his M90 shotgun and emptied a Soellkraft 8-guage shell into the second brute's face. The brutes recovered while Robin and Sam backed Tyrone up. I gave them as much support as I could, but it was difficult to get a clear shot without endangering one of my teammates. While we kept the brutes occupied, Em scaled one of the support legs of the AA battery and began to set her charges. My ears perked up as I heard a deep rumbling sound in the distance, coming fast from the south. Hood's ships were here; we were _out_ of time.

"Fire in the hole, everyone get clear!" Em shouted as she primed and activated the charges, leaping from the AA battery and rolling away. Ty, Sam, and Robin all fell back to my position. We all sat there for a second, waiting for the fireworks. A second passed, then another, but nothing happened. We all glanced at each other in alarm; if those charges didn't go off, then we were all in deep—

An almighty explosion engulfed the Covenant AA battery, blowing its plasma mortar sky-high. We all released a collective sigh of relief. Our mission was now complete; it was all up to Commander Keyes' forces now. The explosion also stunned the remaining brutes that had been guarding it, so we took advantage of their incapacitation and dropped them where they stood. Just as the last one fell, we all saw a similar explosion engulf the other AA battery off to the east. Hood's ships were all clear now.

There were several more explosions from further back where Delta Company had been fighting which signaled the deaths of the remaining Covenant defenders. Captain McCandlish, Lt. Hollard, and 'Ovarumee all hurried forward and joined us at our spot on the edge of the cliffs overlooking the crater, waiting for Admiral Hood's strike.

Not a moment too soon, either; barely ten seconds later a large group of longsword fighters soared over the horizon and streaked over our heads towards the crater. Three UNSC ships; the Forward Unto Dawn, Aegis Fate, and Breath of Winter, crested the horizon after the longswords and advanced towards the Covenant fleet over the Forerunner artifact, priming their weapons.

"All ships, fire at will!" Admiral Hood ordered over the universal COM. The MAC cannons on the three ships blazed to life, firing heavy 600-ton depleted uranium rounds at 40% the speed of light. The longswords also opened fire, sending archer missiles streaking towards the Forerunner vessel in a thick cloud. The tetrahedral Forerunner ship was blanketed with dozens of huge explosions as the withering barrage from Hood's ships struck it. The explosions finally ceased after several seconds and the smoke cleared to reveal…the Forerunner Dreadnought, completely _undamaged._

Suddenly, the ground around the Forerunner ship cracked as fourteen huge flat wedge-shaped monoliths at the edge of the artifact, arranged around the dreadnought in a circle, began to rise. The monoliths were dozens of kilometers high, even bigger than the length of a UNSC frigate. The storm intensified as they rose from their spots on the ground to upright positions around the Forerunner ship. While this was happening, the center pedestal of the artifact, which the Forerunner Dreadnought was resting on, began to sink down until the top of the dreadnought was level with the ground.

The three UNSC ships halted their advance and held their positions as a huge crackling blue ball of energy appeared on the apex of the top extension of the dreadnought. Bluish-white energy pulsed from the artifact _through_ the dreadnought and shot out of its apex straight up into the sky through the eye of the storm in a thin, sharp beam. The monoliths reached their upright positions and the beam of blue energy intensified into a thick pillar of white energy. The pillar of energy pulsed brightly, sending out a wave of blue energy in every direction. The ships jolted as the wave hit them and continued on. It reached the cliffs of Voi next and hit _us._ I was hurled against the boulder behind me with enough force to knock the wind out of me. The pillar of white energy didn't pulse again. I pushed myself into a sitting-up position, heaving for breath. I watched the pillar of white energy intensify even more, growing brighter and brighter until I couldn't even look in the general direction of it anymore without being temporarily blinded. I looked away and squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out the blinding light. There was a loud rushing noise, than a huge _**BANG**_…then nothing but the sound of the howling wind.

I opened my eyes and gasped at what I saw; the pillar of white energy had disappeared. In its place, there was a colossal sphere of…well I don't know exactly _what_ it was. There was a colossal black sphere dozens of kilometers across hovering in the air where the pillar _used_ to be. No matter how I looked at it, the center was always black and the rims were a crackling blue. When I looked straight at it for too long my head started to ache. Thin threads of crackling blue energy trailed from the summits of the fourteen monoliths into the sphere, anchoring or stabilizing it. The dark clouds of the electric storm had been dispersed away from the crater, still covering the whole area, but not in its previous peculiar shape. The rainfall still continued.

The COM crackled to life again. "What did Truth just do?!" Admiral Hood shouted between coughs, "Did he activate the rings?!"

"No sir," Commander Keyes replied, "But he certainly did _something_..."

'Ovarumee picked himself up off the ground and let out an angry roar as the Forerunner ship the Prophet of Truth was in lifted off the ground, its engines blazing. The dreadnought climbed up through the air right towards the hovering black sphere. When it reached the sphere it simply slipped _into_ the crackling blue rim, which glowed white where the ship made contact. The dreadnought slipped all the way into the sphere and disappeared with a small white flash.

"A slipspace portal…" McCandlish murmured to himself, but loud enough for all of us to hear him.

"Evac the wounded and regroup," Hood ordered over the COM, "Wherever Truth went—"

"Sir, new contact slippin' in!" a naval officer's voice interrupted the Fleet Admiral.

Sure enough, a purple flash pulsed in the sky and the single Covenant Battle Cruiser which Keyes and Hood had mentioned earlier appeared. The cruiser was rapidly descending, smoking heavily out the rear, and venting fumes. It was also oddly discolored…there was something very strange and unnerving about it. It listed and banked sharply in our direction, heading straight for the city. It continued on its course and sailed right over our heads and further into the city, out of our view. It then crashed somewhere near the lake-bed, causing a huge explosion followed up by a blinding flash.

Sam, who had already picked herself up and checked her weapon, walked over to me and offered a hand. I took it and pulled myself to my feet. I had a deep sense of foreboding in my gut; that Covenant ship just didn't seem right. There was an evil in the air, we could all feel it. The marines of Delta Company further back on the pathway shuddered and fidgeted at the feeling.

"What was that, more Covenant forces?" Hollard asked.

"No," 'Ovarumee whispered, his voice filled with dread. Hearing the Elite sound like that made me even more on edge. "It is the Parasite."


	20. Chapter 19: Into the Unknown

Chapter Nineteen: Into the Unknown

**1445 Hours, December 19, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Earth, Sol System**

**Voi, Kenya**

**Spartan-III Alex-G004**

The color in Captain McCandlish's face drained so fast that it could've won an Olympic medal. He quickly activated his COM and set it to the emergency channel which all units could hear at all times. "This is Captain McCandlish broadcasting on the E-Band! All units, fall back and get out of the city! I repeat, _fall back and get out of the city!_"

My blood ran cold as well. When 'Ovarumee mentioned the "Parasite" I knew there was only one thing he could mean; the Flood. We hadn't learned anything much about the Flood on Onyx; after all, the UNSC didn't make contact with the extragalactic parasitic species until only two months ago on Installation 04, one of the Forerunner Halo Rings.

There were a lot of choppy COM transmissions coming mostly from the 117th Marine Regiment, which was still evacuating marines from the center of town. Bravo and Charlie Companies were still with them. They were closer to the crash site than we were.

When the 117th had arrived, they had joined forces with the 77th. Put together, the survivors of the two regiments made up a large unit a bit larger than a normal regiment. The 117th had been led by General Edward "Ironguts" Eckhart. It had been the general who had taken overall command of both regiments, but left the two regimental COs as his subordinates. Eckhart, who was now operating at the CP we had established at the western entrance of Voi, responded over the COM, shouting, "O'Harral! Sutherland! What the hell is happening out there?!"

"General Eckhart, sir! It's the Flood! That Covenant cruiser was _crawling_ with the lil' bastards! They're spreading all over the city!" the Irish-accented voice of Colonel O'Harral, the 117th Regiment's CO, shouted in response.

"Flood? Here? Are you certain?!" Eckhart sounded genuinely shocked.

"Sir," I recognized the weary voice of Major Sutherland, "I just witnessed a whole squad get eaten by those…_things…_we know Flood when we see it."

"Enough gawking, get moving! We have to get out of the city _now!_" McCandlish snapped us all back to reality.

"You go ahead, sir, we'll cover your six," Ty said to the captain. All of us made it back to Delta Company's position all the way back on the dirt pathway in time to see a wave of small—three feet large at most—balloon-like creatures scurry over the metal fence down the path a ways, heading straight after us. The marines opened fire at the crawling creatures, mowing through them with relative ease. Whenever one of the creatures was hit by weaponsfire it simply burst, leaving a very minimal trace of bodily material.

"The crawling abominations; they are Infection Forms!" 'Ovarumee bellowed at the top of his lungs so all the marines could hear, "Do not allow them to make physical contact with your body!"

Even as the Elite spoke, a single infection form evaded the hail of weaponsfire and leaped into the air, landing on the chest of the nearest marine. The doomed man screamed in agony as the infection form's tentacles penetrated his armor and flesh, tapping into his nervous system. The infection form then burrowed into the marine's chest, but the marine himself began to…_change_… The man's insides were liquefied and infectious growths and tentacles burst from his skin, which had turned to a greenish-yellow shade. His arm was turned into a long whip-like extension and his skin seemed to…_melt_ would be the best word to describe it. After a few more seconds, the former marine was a Flood Combat Form. It gave out a growl and lashed out, killing one of the marines who had been standing next to it before it had been infected. Another infection form skittered forward and burrowed into the second marine's dead body. The corpse mutated as well, becoming another combat form which picked itself up off of the ground. The other marines were forced to turn their weapons on their former comrades, cutting the combat forms to pieces. One of those marines, a sergeant, bent down and picked up his former comrades' dogtags, tucking them away in his pockets. Many of the marines looked sick and a few even threw up on the spot.

I was also sickened by the grisly sight and had to look away to keep my lunch down in my stomach.

Delta Company tore the first wave of infection forms to pieces, but more waves were right behind them. McCandlish fought his way to the head of the company and led them down the pathway in a semi-hasty retreat. If we didn't get off this pathway soon we would _all_ be Flood in a matter of minutes.

During our retreat more infection forms managed to leap onto marines, but the men around the would-be victims reacted with admirable reflexes, shooting or pulling the parasites off before they had a chance to infect the marines they were on. Only once more did we lose a marine in the same way we lost those first two, but we cut down the combat form before it could wreak any havoc.

Several minutes passed before we heard the same rushing noise that had sounded when the slipspace gate had activated. I looked to the sky in time to see several purple slipspace ruptures erupting over the crater. From them emerged a handful of Covenant battlecruisers and a massive assault carrier. Our COM units crackled back to life. "Hail Humans, and take heed!" the voice of a Sangheili shipmaster issued from the universal channel, "This is the carrier _Shadow of Intent._ Clear this sector while _we_ deal with the Flood."

"Marines," another familiar voice, that of Captain Newman, addressed all of us over the COM, "This is the UNSC _Breath of Winter_. The Elites are going to glass the whole area in order to prevent the Flood from spreading; you need to exfil from the area _immediately_. We are landing our ships near the western edge of the city for a short time. If you can reach us, we'll extract you, but you have to hurry; the Elites cannot delay forever." Sure enough, we looked up to the sky to see the two of the ships from Fleet Admiral Hood's failed assault on the dreadnought descending from the clouds and landing out of sight somewhere close-by, outside of the city.

While 'Ovarumee and my team held the seemingly endless waves of infection forms at bay, McCandlish led the two hundred-odd marines of Delta Company back onto the main road which led all the way back to Voi's western entrance. We reached the road in time to link up with the retreating Alpha Company of the 117th. The whole regiment was retreating in a long column, going one company at a time. I glanced further down the street and caught sight of six more companies. They were being assaulted by Flood on all sides as the infection forms found homes in all of the Covenant corpses left over from the previous battle.

We let them all pass, which took at least five more minutes. Once the road was clear, McCandlish took Delta onto the main road. The marines all formed a defensive circle formation; taking out any Flood that got too close, but the parasite was increasing in number every second. We would soon be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

Slowly but surely, we finally reached the western entrance of Voi. The command post was finishing its evacuation. I caught a glimpse of the HQ staff boarding a pelican, which then lifted off and headed east. Last to emerge was General Eckhart. The general was a large man, well over six feet tall. He had a full black beard and the fiery eyes of a determined leader. He had refused to board the pelican and instead joined ranks with Alpha Company, fighting alongside Captain Hiawatha's men. Alpha Company had been defending the whole building during the evac, and now they too were retreating into the entrance tunnel. The Flood attacks intensified as we neared the tunnels. We kept up our fire as we edged back until McCandlish barked out an order once we reached the tunnel. Delta Company broke ranks, every marine sprinting as fast as he or she could towards the far side a klick away.

My team and 'Ovarumee retreated more slowly, taking out as many Flood forms as we could to buy the marines enough time to reach safety. 'Ovarumee's personal energy shields were constantly pulsing as infection forms leaped into them with the intention of infecting the ultra, only to be vaporized. Eventually there were too many Flood for even _us_ to handle and we ran like the wind towards the end of the entrance tunnel as well, the parasite hot on our heels.

"Are you the last?!" a technician who was standing next to a table with a computer on it shouted to us as we emerged from the entrance tunnel.

"Yeah, this is everyone!" Tyrone shouted back.

"Aight, stand clear!" the technician entered a series of commands into the computer console. Nothing happened at first, but after a few seconds I heard a series of explosions as the pre-set charges in the entrance tunnel detonated. With a rumbling crash, the tunnel caved in and collapsed on top of the advancing Flood, crushing them.

It wouldn't stop the Flood forever, but it would delay them long enough.

The technician packed up his gear and boarded a nearby pelican, which then took off, heading towards the grounded UNSC ships in the distance.

With the entrance tunnel to Voi destroyed, we followed the rest of the marines as they started to walk towards the UNSC ships waiting for them.

Dozens of pelicans were flying back and forth between the ships and the marines, ferrying as many marines as possible to the ships before returning for more.

My team and I were three quarters of the way to the ships when the last of Delta Company was picked up, leaving just us. As I watched, the _Aegis Fate,_ the frigate, fired its engines and lifted off the ground, ascending through the air to join the Separatist cruisers. It approached the Separatist assault carrier and maneuvered _into_ its hangar bay; a testament to the size of a Covenant Assault Carrier. The _Winter_ remained on the ground, however. The marathon-class cruiser was obviously waiting for the last of the marines to board; a dangerous gambit.

Finally, one last pelican with the name Omega-613 approached my team, landing in front of us. "Hop on!" the pilot called out to us.

I climbed into the pelican last, taking the seat nearest to the open aft ramp. Sam sat next to me and Tyrone headed into the cockpit, sitting at the vacant co-pilot's seat. The ground fell away as we lifted off, heading for the _Winter_.

"You guys were cutting it pretty damn close there!" the pilot chuckled, "Good to see you in one piece."

"I hear ya," Ty murmured.

As I watched, a blinding flash enveloped the entire city of Voi as the Separatist cruisers unleashed their plasma weapons on the town, glassing whatever they touched. They all began to move outward, glassing the surrounding area as well, ensuring that _no_ Flood survived. The _Winter_ started to take off as well to avoid being destroyed by the glassing. The remaining pelicans continued on their courses and intercepted the UNSC cruiser, docking in mid-flight.

Our pelican changed course, however, instead of heading for the _Winter_ we were now heading towards the Separatist Assault Carrier _Shadow of Intent_, which was still busy glassing the countryside. We flew right into the assault carrier's open hangar bay. The place was humongous—the _Forward Unto Dawn_ and _Aegis Fate_ were docked _inside_ the hangar bay. Two whole frigates—and there was still plenty of space. Seraph fighters, green phantom dropships, banshees, ghosts, wraiths; the hangar was filled with them. This ship was a mobile army. Teams of marines and Elites were milling about the space, talking amongst themselves and cleaning up their weapons and vehicles.

As my team and I climbed out of our pelican, a group of elites approached us, hailing 'Ovarumee. They were mostly minors but were led by a single red-armored Sangheili major. "Ultra," the major domo elite nodded respectfully to 'Ovarumee, "It has been quite some time, brother."

'Ovarumee gave a low growl of agreement and moved off to join his comrades. "Proceed to the briefing room in one hour," the ultra called to us over his shoulder, "The field masters will explain the situation at that time."

We didn't exactly need to wait; over the next hour we were busy helping other marines and elites prepare for battle. During the course of that hour, the call to gear up was sent out to all units. Squads and platoons reported to their superiors, quartermasters distributed weapons and ammo, vehicles were prepped—it was a huge joint mobilization for what I felt was going to be another huge battle. I had heard that a UNSC AI had left some sort of message on that crashed Flood cruiser and that we had somehow managed to recover it before the Elites glassed the area. That message had the higher-ups panicking like students during final exams. It was the contents of that message, whatever they may have been, that prompted this call to arms. Something big was happening; we all knew it.

The briefing room which we were eventually summoned to was a large square room the size of the interior of a house. In the center was a large round table-console. Elite Special Operations squad leaders, Majors, and several Ultras—including 'Ovarumee—sat alongside UNSC officers at the round table, which was dominated by a white-armored Sangheili shipmaster, who 'Ovarumee had identified as R'tas 'Vadum, and General Eckhart. The seats were all taken, so my team and I simply stood in front of the entrance. The shipmaster cleared his throat and called for silence. "Brothers!" he addressed everyone in the room, "Let us commence."

General Eckhart took the floor, capturing everyone's attention with his signature glare. "Gentlemen," he began, "we all know that the Halo Rings are Forerunner Installations designed to kill every sentient being in the galaxy, if activated, as a last resort against the Flood."

"Is there a point to this?" one of the Sangheili majors almost yawned, "This news is not recently discovered."

Eckhart turned his furious glare onto the bold elite. "Either silence yourself or resign and give your rank and position away to someone who cares about what we're up against more than you seem to," the general said coldly, his voice dangerously quiet.

Sufficiently cowed, the major didn't say another word. I had to hand it to the general; giving Elites verbal lashings was something few dared to attempt, let alone succeed at.

"Now then," Eckhart continued, "When activated, a single Halo Ring's tactical pulse triggers the other rings into firing as well. But there is another way. Gentlemen, we now _also_ know of the Ark, another Forerunner Installation which has the ability to activate all seven, or I suppose I should say _six_, Halo rings at the same time. At first, we suspected that _this_ was the Ark," Eckhart input several commands into the table-console and a stunningly realistic hologram of the crater near Voi, complete with the dreadnought, flickered into existence. Eckhart gave everyone a few moments to take the image in before continuing. "The Prophet of Truth activated this artifact and it was revealed to be merely a slipspace portal," the holographic artifact changed to its current state; no dreadnought and the colossal black sphere which represented the slipspace portal. "Based on a message left on the infected ship by a UNSC artificial intelligence," Eckhart finished up, "We have determined that the Ark lies through this gateway. But the Flood has…complicated things, putting it lightly."

"High Charity, the Holy City of the Covenant for those of you who are unfamiliar with it," the shipmaster explained, leaning forward in his gravity chair, "has been corrupted, tainted, and captured by the Parasite. It has become a nexus, a Hive for the abominations. Billions, maybe _trillions_ of the Parasite now fester there. Their leader and central intelligence, which calls itself the Gravemind, has created an unstoppable army of his kind. And they are coming here, to Earth. This world is, for lack of a more sufficient adjective, doomed. Or so we originally believed."

That caused quite a stir from the officers at the table, but before they could raise their voices Eckhart retook the floor. "All is not yet lost, however. In that message left by our AI on that infected cruiser, the AI mentioned a solution, a way to stop the Flood _without_ firing the Halo Array. She didn't say what this solution was, but she _did_ say that it was beyond the portal. Our best, and quite frankly our _only_ option, is to follow the Loyalists through the portal and find this 'solution'."

"If we succeed, this war may finally _end,_" the shipmaster stood and walked off of his gravity chair, "You are all to report to your units. Tell them of what has transpired and ready them for the coming storm. Many of us will not return, but it is not ourselves upon which we should be focusing our concern; it is the whole of the galaxy. By possibly sacrificing ourselves on the Ark to seek out this solution, we will save everything. That, of all things, is worth giving our lives for."

"Any questions?" Eckhart asked us.

"Any idea what we're up against?" one of the battalion commanders from the 117th Regiment asked.

"All we know is that Truth's fleet comprises of three assault carriers and twenty-seven CCS-class battlecruisers. In terms of ground troops, we do not know. Probably heavier than what we faced here," Eckhart answered, "Anyone else?"

No one had anymore inquiries, so Eckhart and the shipmaster dismissed all of us.

Ty led us back to the hangar bay where all of the troops were reporting to their ships. ODSTs and Marines climbed aboard pelicans, which in turn docked onto either the two frigates in the bay or the _Breath of Winter,_ which was holding position outside of the assault carrier. Squadrons of Elites were climbing into phantom dropships while their pilots hopped into their respective seraph fighters, prepping them for take-off. We reached the pelican that had taken us here from the savannah near Voi, but the pilot, a Flight Officer named Hayliger, shook his head, saying, "No, you spartans are to remain on this ship. I'll be taking you groundside personally."

Well, it was less work for us to do at any rate.

Even so, it left us with nothing else to do until everything got moving. Sam and I wandered off to stand by one of the huge deployment openings of the _Shadow of Intent's_ hangar bay. It would have been almost romantic, the two of us standing there together, gazing off into the sunset…only there was no sunset; only dark storm clouds, the crackling slipspace portal, and a barren, smoking, red landscape as a result of the necessary glassing of Voi. Ah well, it was the effort that counted, right?

As we watched, a group of three more UNSC frigates and another marathon-class cruiser crested over the southern horizon. They must have been sent by HighCom, part of the remnants of the surviving Home Fleet. The _Burning Ember,_ the marathon-class cruiser, took up a position next to the _Winter_ while the three frigates; the _Spear of Destiny, Wish Upon a Star, _and the _Icy Resolve_ respectively, mingled with the Separatist cruisers. After a few minutes, all of the ships in our combined fleet fired up their thrusters and turned north towards the slipspace portal, following in the footsteps of the Covenant Loyalist fleet. I felt this ship shudder briefly as it followed suit. Our ship let all of the others go ahead of it before proceeding forward.

"Well, hopefully this is our _final_ 'One Final Effort'," I chuckled, quoting Fleet Admiral Hood. The laugh was only supposed to lighten the mood; light-hearted was the complete opposite of how I felt right now.

"One last battle…just _one_…the whole concept seems…strange, you know?" Sam murmured.

The _Forward Unto Dawn_ and the _Aegis Fate_ both fired up their engines once all of their marines were safely aboard and slowly maneuvered out of the hangar bay, joining the _Winter _and the _Ember_ outside. Sam and I watched them go.

"You know how they said that the Flood are coming _here_ to Earth?" I asked Sam, voicing what had been on my mind for a while now, "And how that AI said that there was a solution on the Ark? Well what if we _find_ that solution and come back here only to find a huge Earth-sized Flood Hive? What if they completely overrun Earth while we're gone?"

"Honestly? I don't know," she sighed, "I honestly think it's a miracle we've survived _this_ long and that every second we still continue draw breath is a gift. I really don't know _what's_ going to happen. I only know that we'll all find a way; we'll have to. Simple as that." Satisfied with her response, she decided to sit down cross-legged at the very edge of the docking opening, only a few inches separating her from an incredibly long fall to Earth's surface. I sat next to her, not saying anything more.

The foremost ships in our combined fleet reached the slipspace portal. The crackling blue surface of the black sphere glowed bright white wherever a ship made contact, fading once the ship slipped completely through. Eventually, the _Shadow of Intent_ was the only ship of the fleet remaining on Earth.

Force fields flickered into existence, sealing the docking ports. The fields were penetrable—objects could pass through them—but weaponsfire could not. Well, technically weaponsfire _could_ penetrate the force fields, but the ship-wide energy shields prevented that. I suppose its only real function was to prevent the atmosphere inside the hangar from venting out.

The Portal drew nearer and nearer until the fore of the ship disappeared within it.

I put my arm around Sam's shoulders as the ship slid into the Portal. She did the same, tightening her grip. _Here we go again…_I had time to think to myself before we completely entered the Portal and vanished into the unknown.


	21. Chapter 20: The Ark

Chapter Twenty: The Ark

**2100 Hours, December 19, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Unknown Location**

**Covenant Separatist Assault Carrier **_**Shadow of Intent**_

**Spartan-III Alex-G004**

We were in the darkness of slipstream space for around ten minutes. Not complete darkness, mind you; the _Shadow of Intent's_ lighting systems thoroughly illuminated the ship's interior, but relative darkness as in the absence of normal space. In slipspace, there was no visible light to reflect off of objects or matter, so the entire realm was basically invisible, or totally black, to shipboard sensors. The slipstream also had lethally high levels of radiation, so the docking ports had to be closed for the jump.

Sam and I had been sitting in the same place the whole time, right next to the closed docking port. A slight rumbling of the assault carrier's hull was the only warning we had before the ship dropped back into normal space. A whirring sound came from the hull as the armor covering the docking ports slid away, revealing the deep black void of space. Well, that and the massive artificial Forerunner world below and around us. Sam and I were awestruck as we gazed at it. It was similar to an Alderson disk; it was shaped like an eight-spoked wheel, or an octopus with its arms outstretched, only instead of being flat, the eight outstretching arms were concave, curving upwards, probably so the orbiting artificial sun could reach all of it equally. The eight spokes met in the center, forming a circular core. And in the very center of the core was a massive round hole which ran all the way through to the bottom of the Installation. The hole was obscured with thick orange and scarlet clouds, but I could faintly make out the shape of a dark planetoid in the middle. The surface of the entire installation was covered with landmasses and water, partially obscured by swirling gray and white clouds. There was an entire world down there.

The Installation was massive, much larger than planets or even Halo rings. A single halo ring, which measured at ten thousand kilometers in diameter—slightly smaller than the diameter of Earth—could perfectly fit into the hole in the center of the Ark with room to spare. The Ark had to be at least a hundred thousand kilometers across.

Our fleet emerged right over one of the Ark's outreaching arms. The tip of the spoke rose up behind us, but the rest of the Ark sloped away underneath and in front of us, a whole world just waiting to be explored. Or, in our case, invaded to secure the fate of the entire galaxy. And speaking of the galaxy; we weren't _in_ our galaxy anymore; all around the Ark was nothing but the pure black void of deep space without any stars sprinkled across it. We could actually _see_ the Milky Way above us, way off in the distance. Far below the Ark, however, there were the telltale red and orange glows of a massive nebula, but other than that, space was empty.

The ship's alarms began to go off suddenly and we saw why; the thirty ships in the Covenant Loyalist fleet had formed up near the core of the Ark and were moving on an intercept course. The UNSC ships in our joint fleet slowed down and hung back. They would be torn to shreds if they presented themselves at the fore of our formation.

The squadrons of seraph fighters powered up their engines and formed up inside the hangar before moving out into space via the docking ports. The groups of fighters joined up with other seraphs from the other Separatist cruisers and longsword fighters from the UNSC ships. The mass of fighters surged forward and met the Loyalists' advance guard with a brilliant display of flashes, weaponsfire, and explosions.

The Loyalist fleet drew nearer and nearer. I counted up our ships and theirs and realized that the Loyalists outnumbered us at least three to one. I knew from experience that Brutes were savage and barbaric, but they were still intelligent and cunning. However, despite their 'intelligence', they were still far more inferior to Elites as tacticians. That was a spark we were all going to have to blow on to make it through this in one piece.

I saw the _Forward Unto Dawn_ break off and descend down closer to the surface of the Ark. A group of six pelicans dropped out of its hangar bay. That was our advance ground force; they would be securing an LZ for the _Dawn_ and would then seek out the Cartographer of this installation to find the control room where the Prophet of Truth would be. All we had to do now was avoid being turned into scrap metal.

Two of the Separatist battlecruisers, the _Unrelenting Perseverance_ and the _Irreverent_ broke formation as the lead Loyalist assault carrier drew ever closer to our fleet. The brutes seemed to be adopting a 'drown them with sheer numbers' strategy, as Sam and I couldn't see any significant tactical maneuvers coming from the Loyalist Fleet other than moving forward. They were going to try to drive right through us.

The six remaining UNSC ships opened fire with their MAC cannons, sending 600-ton depleted uranium slugs barreling into the lead Loyalist cruisers at 40% the speed of light. Several cruisers were damaged, their energy shields flickering, others were only dented. The _Breath of Winter_ and the _Burning Ember,_ the two marathon-class cruisers, concentrated all of their fire at the lead Loyalist assault carrier. A Covenant assault carrier would normally shrug off attacks from a UNSC ship as if they were minor annoyances, but two marathon-class cruisers—while still inferior to an assault carrier—are still a force to be reckoned with. The assault carrier's shields were disabled, but the ship itself was unscathed; not even a scratch or blemish. In a normal space battle this would be the part when the Covenant assault carrier returned fire and turned the two marathon-class cruisers into molten slag in a matter of seconds, but this was no normal space battle. This time, we had Covenant on _our_ side.

The _Unrelenting Perseverance_ and the _Irreverent,_ the two Separatist battlecruisers which had broken formation, came up on either side of the now-unshielded assault carrier. They unleashed a storm of plasma from their turrets and torpedo launchers into both sides of the Loyalist assault carrier in a textbook double-broadside maneuver. They gutted the assault carrier from fore to aft, leaving it a drifting piece of scrap metal by the time they were finished. The two battlecruisers broke off their run and returned to the rest of the fleet to avoid being surrounded.

"Good move…but it probably won't work twice," Sam observed.

"Well you never know, brutes are horrible tacticians," I countered, playing the Devil's Advocate.

Even as I said that, the Separatist battlecruisers fired a volley of plasma torpedoes onto the Loyalist vessels which had been damaged by the volley of MAC rounds. Three Loyalist battlecruisers exploded in a brilliant display of blue flame and debris while four more were heavily damaged. After several more volleys of plasmafire, our fleet and that of the Loyalists reached each other and mixed. The battle deteriorated into a chaotic dogfight, albeit on a much larger scale. Sam and I stayed in our own little spot by the docking port until a Loyalist battlecruiser drew up against the _Shadow of Intent's_ starboard side, the side Sam and I were sitting on. The hostile ship fired off a pair of plasma torpedoes towards the _Shadow of Intent._ The glowing blue bolts slammed into our assault carrier's side. The energy shields shimmered, but held. Even so, Sam and I stood up and walked away at a brisk pace; couldn't be too careful.

As Sam and I left our spot, we saw the _Shadow of Intent's_ lateral lasers fire up and paint the hull of the attacking Loyalist battlecruiser. The smaller ship held for a few seconds before succumbing to the _Shadow of Intent's_ superior firepower and breaking apart, its burning and sparking pieces drifting through space. The other ships in our fleet made minor course adjustments to avoid colliding with any of the debris.

I still hated being stuck on a ship like this, being unable to do anything except twiddle my thumbs while space exploded all around me. On the ground, a soldier's destiny was his own, but in naval fights such as this, the fate every man aboard a ship was in the hands of the captain. The silver lining of this storm cloud was that this ship was a _lot_ tougher to destroy and its commander, Shipmaster 'Vadum, seemed to be a brilliant strategist. I'm not saying that I would ever trust my life to anyone else, except my team, obviously, but this shipmaster seemed to a good substitute.

"Quite a show going on out there," Ty mused as we returned to our pelican, climbing inside the hold and sitting on the floor.

"If it's a show you wanted why not just wait for the Fourth of July and forget the whole bloody mess," Robin grumbled.

"Naw…I'd say blowing Covie ships up beats fireworks," Ty made up his mind, ending the argument then and there.

"God, I just want to _do_ something!" Robin flopped back onto one of the sitting benches which lined the sides of the pelican's hold, "I hate this, having nothing to do except lie around and wait for a plasma torpedo to turn us into memories. It's not—"

As we spoke, the sounds of the battle raging in space outside intensified as more Loyalist cruisers mixed ranks with our own ships. We all lay in silence for a while, resting up before we were deployed to the ground. Eventually after roughly an hour of waiting Flight Officer Hayliger, our pilot, emerged from the cockpit and told us that the ground teams had secured the Silent Cartographer of the Ark and had discovered the location of the Citadel, the place where the Halo rings would be activated. Plans were being drawn up to mount an offensive on the area and we would be deploying very soon.

After chatting with the Flight Officer for a few minutes, I heard a commotion break out behind one of the phantom dropships a short distance away; a loud cacophony of chanting voices and cheering. Flight Officer Hayliger's ears perked up as he heard it as well. "Better check that out," he suggested to us, if only to give us something to do.

I was the first to hop out of the pelican and swiftly cross over to the green phantom dropship. I had never seen a phantom up this close before; they truly were one of the hundreds of epitomes of streamlined technology just _waiting_ to be grasped. The Covenant produced wonders like these by copying Forerunner designs, but they weren't innovative; once they had the technical know-how they did nothing to expand or improve upon it. I could only imagine what _humans_ could do with works like these.

My team and I circumvented the dropship and walked right into the middle of a group of ODSTs and Sangheili clustered around a large crate. Kneeling on one side of the crate was as ODST with the name _Behm_ printed on his helmet; I frowned as I saw the name, remembering it from somewhere…My eyebrows shot up as I recognized the ODST and his teammates who were gathered around him. They were the men of that ODST Special Ops team who had fought alongside _my_ team and Delta Company in the Zharu Industries parking garage in New Mombasa at the very beginning of the invasion of Earth.

On the opposite side of the crate was a red-armored Sangheili major. The major and the ODST had their elbows firmly planted on the top of the box and had locked hands, straining against each other. I barely suppressed a laugh; they were _arm-wrestling_. It wasn't really much of a competition; Behm was straining and giving it his all, but the Elite looked almost bored. Several more seconds passed before a critical point was reached and broken as the major quickly pressed Behm's arm flat to the surface of the crate, winning the match. The ODST got to his feet, massaging his aching shoulder, "Maybe next time," he clapped the major on the shoulder.

"Honestly, what did you expect? Sangheili have at least three times the strength of—"

"Oh shut up, Aitken, you think I didn't know that? Just wanted to have something I could sit down and tell the grandkids in fifty years; I freakin' _arm-wrestled_ an Elite—_Sangheili_…Jesus…" he corrected himself as the Elites drew a breath of displeasure at the name which we humans had labeled them all as.

"A valiant effort despite its fruitless results," the major agreed, "Does another wish to test their strength against mine?"

"Oh, get out of the way," Tyrone pushed two Elites and Diamond, another ODST, out of the way and crouched down at the crate. He unsealed his helmet and took it off, placing it on the ground next to him. The major knelt down opposite him and planted his elbow on top of the crate, holding out his four-fingered hand to my team leader. Tyrone grasped the Elite's hand and tensed, ready for the start.

"Now _this_ is something I've been _itching_ to bet on," Robin cackled, moving up to get a better view.

Miller, one of the ODSTs, drew his magnum and pointed it into the air. He waited a few seconds and fired a single shot. Ty and the Elite immediately set their arms against each other at the sound of the shot, straining to get an advantage. The ODSTs' rooting was mixed with encouraging growls and exclamations from the team of Elites as the balance of the match shifted back and forth from one side to the other.

I was a sniper, my skills were best put to use at long-range, but Tyrone was a meat-grinder for enemy troops at close range. He could have passed for a pro-wrestler if he were a few years older, but even so; he was the strongest of us. That major probably would have had me beat by now, but Tyrone had fought him to a standstill. It remained like this for at least five minutes, neither Tyrone nor the major coming out on top. Sweat poured from both participants' faces, neither one of them willing to give in to the other, until the major's arm finally buckled with the strain. Tyrone leaped at the opportunity and steadily pushed the Elite's arm down onto the box's surface.

"Your strength lives up to your kind's reputation, Demon," the major panted, regaining his breath.

"Well, you're pretty damn strong too," Ty said as he regained his breath as well, flopping his arm around to shake off the ache, "See you around."

"And I you," the major inclined his head in a gesture of respect before rejoining his team and leading them onto the phantom dropship behind us.

Just then, Captain Shepard, the leader of the squad of ODSTs, showed up along with Sergeant McNally. "Alright boys, put the muscles away; we're moving out. Team Rapier," the ODST captain nodded over to us, "We're the last UNSC forces left on this ship besides you, so we'll be hitching a ride on your pelican."

"Helljumpers and Spartans in the same ship together, what's next? Brutes and Elites trading valentines?" Em chuckled. ODSTs and Spartans generally didn't get along with each other, all because some Spartan-II had accidentally killed three ODSTs and severely injured a fourth during a training exercise. That was way before I was even born, so I didn't know the details. Since that incident, ODSTs usually had a deep animosity towards Spartans, usually regarding us as 'freaks' while we tended to think that they didn't deserve any special status in the military etc. etc; I could go on and on. These ODSTs were alright, though; they had probably been through so much by now that they were simply past caring.

Tyrone led the way back to our pelican for Captain Shepard and his team. Flight Officer Hayliger was busy polishing a scuffed section on the port side wing. "Ah, welcome back," he greeted us, finishing up his work.

"You're _polishing_ your ship before a battle?" Jacobs, one of the ODSTs, asked incredulously, "Why bother, it's probably just gonna get—"

"This ship's kept me alive for years, so I keep her looking pretty as a prom queen. Yeah, she'll probably get dented up real good in the battle, but I'll just fix her up all over again if I need to," the Flight Officer finished his polishing job, hopping down and surveying us with a look of mild interest. "We're deploying right _now,_ aren't we?"

Captain Shepard nodded. "Just got orders from General Eckhart. I'm Captain Michael Shepard, ODST Special Operations," the ODST captain shook hands with our pilot, "We'll be hitching a ride with you down to the surface."

"Well, the more the merrier. Saddle up!" the Flight Officer raised his voice, "We're going on a _hopefully_ round-trip express ride to Hell, make sure you have your passports." Hayliger put on his helmet and climbed into his pelican, ducking into the cockpit. The dropship's thrusters fired up, ready for take-off. I climbed aboard the pelican and sealed my helmet, taking a seat nearest to the aft deployment ramp. My team and the ODSTs followed suit, gearing up and checking their weapons before plunking down onto the benches. The ramp rose up from the ground and sealed itself.

"Initializing take-off procedures…" Hayliger's voice drifted through the COM speakers linked to the cockpit, "Shock dampeners check…weapon systems online…thrusters are in the green…we are _go._"

The dropship jolted slightly as the engines fired up and the ship took off. I watched through the cockpit entrance as we rose up off of the hangar bay's floor and moved forward towards the docking port which Sam and I had been sitting in front of. After a few more seconds we were clear of the port and out of the assault carrier, moving through open space. Separatist and Loyalist cruisers traded fire all around us, filling the space around us with glowing blue and white plasmafire. Groups of seraph fighters and longswords were streaking through space, locked in furious dogfights. Hayliger executed a series of barrel rolls and spins to avoid a hail of plasmafire heading for the ship. He then sealed the cockpit door, leaving the hold illuminated only by the red lights in the ceiling.

Captain Shepard, who had been at the operations briefing held by General Eckhart soon after the location of the Citadel had been discerned, took the opportunity to explain the battle plan. "Gentlemen!" he had to shout over the din of the raging space battle outside of the ship as we entered the Ark's atmosphere, allowing sound to travel into the hold, "The Citadel is located on the core of the Ark. Not the _very_ center, mind you, but on the very edge of where that big hole with the planet is. It is situated on a thin landmass on the edge of the hole in the center of the Ark. Although this landmass is bounded by the Ark's central void on its inner perimeter, on its outer perimeter it is bounded by an ocean. This landmass encompasses the entire circumference of that central hole, which is slightly larger than a Halo ring. The size, however, is irrelevant. What _does_ matter is that our approach can only be done from the ocean side of the Citadel. There is a huge energy barrier on that landmass—which also encompasses the entire void—which prevents anything from approaching the Citadel from its far side. The Forward Unto Dawn's forces are handling the barrier; they'll have it down in a matter of hours. The Elites are going to keep the Loyalist aerial forces off of our backs while the rest of our forces; the 77th and 117th Marine Regiments, invade a portion of the landmass several kilometers down from where the advance forces will be taking down the energy barrier's generator towers. Once the barrier is down, the plan is to have the _Shadow of Intent_ move in and destroy the Citadel before the Prophet of Truth can activate the Halo rings. The one catch to this plan is that first we have to take out a large concentration of Loyalist—"

"Don't tell me; let me guess," Em grumbled, "Anti-Air batteries?"

"Correct," Captain Shepard nodded.

"Surprise, surprise…" Em sighed, "Am I the only one who think the whole 'The Fate of the Whole Human Race and that of the Entire Galaxy and—what the hell—the Entire Whole Wide Universe rests on destroying yet another AA battery' ploy is getting pretty old? I mean, we've already done that exact same thing three or four times now!"

"Eight, if you count those incidents in Kiev separately," Sam agreed.

"Well despite how repetitious Fate seems to be today, that's what the situation is," Captain Shepard declared, "Truth's forces have a large concentration of AA batteries and Covenant armor on a section of the landmass several kilometers away from the Citadel. If the _Shadow of Intent_ is to destroy the Citadel, we _must_ destroy those AA batteries before the barrier falls. This section of landmass which the AA batteries are on is ten kilometers in width, so we're going to have a lot of fighting on the ground to reach those batteries. It is full of cliffs and gorges, but the oceanside perimeter of it is a wide open beach before the cliffs set in."

"Approaching rendezvous point Alpha, dropping the ramp," Hayliger's voice issued from the COM speaker linking the hold with the cockpit. The aft deployment ramp opened, allowing sunlight to flood into the hold. We were in the middle of an ocean with water stretching in all directions as far as the eye could see. In the distance in the direction of the Ark's void, I could see the shimmering sheen of the energy barrier which impeded our plans to stop Truth. That was where we would be heading. Below us were the UNSC ships which had gone through the slipspace portal with the Separatists; the two marathon-class cruisers and four frigates. The only ship which was absent was the _Forward Unto Dawn,_ which was off groundside near the Silent Cartographer far away. Pelicans and Albatross dropships were all buzzing around the ships as the larger vessels deployed large objects into the ocean below them.

Captain Shepard cleared his throat, continuing. "Because of the AA batteries, we obviously can't go in by air. We can't risk an orbital insertion either, not with the space battle going on and the risk of hitting the energy barrier. Lastly, if we sent you in by land, you wouldn't be able to take the AA batteries down in time. The nearest possible landing zones on the landmass are much too distant to mount an assault from."

"How are we going in, then?" Miller, one of the ODSTs, asked, getting to the point.

"When you can't go in by orbit, air, or land, what method remains?" Captain Shepard asked us, having us figure it out by ourselves.

"Underground?" one of the ODSTs, Diamond, suggested.

Sergeant McNally rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we're going in underground with the _massive_ drill we lugged through the Portal with us! How about an answer from someone with an amount of intelligence that can be measured with larger units than nanometers?"

"By sea?" Sam suggested, if only because we were surrounded by it.

"Correct," Captain Shepard nodded, "As I said, this section of the landmass has a favorable coast. You and the two marine regiments, led by General Eckhart, will be going in by sea."

Hayliger brought us in amongst the other UNSC ships, joining in the massive mobilization taking place under the large vessels. We also got close enough for me to recognize the objects that they were deploying into the water. Floating in the ocean under the ships were well over a hundred M315-AAM Elephant HRVs. Everyone simply called them 'Elephants'. These weren't normal Elephants, though, these were the AAM model, the amphibious assault Elephants capable of moving on both water and land. Instead of having an open lower access in the front, it was sealed by a water-tight deployment door. The rears of the amphibious elephants were likewise sealed to prevent water from pouring in. In each of the AAM Elephants were sticks of twenty marines from the 77th and 117th Marine Regiments, waiting for orders.

I realized that seeing all of those amphibious assault elephants in one place could only mean one thing, and my suspicions were confirmed when Captain Shepard spoke again.

"Gentlemen!" he addressed all of us, "We are going to be storming the beach."


	22. Chapter 21: Storming the Beach

Chapter Twenty-One: Storming the Beach

**0400 Hours, December 20, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Installation 00_The 'Ark', Near the Citadel**

**5 Klicks off of 'September' Beach**

**Spartan-III Alex-G004**

My stomach was full of butterflies as we waited for the order to advance, though the rolling waves of the sea didn't do wonders to alleviate said butterflies, either. After an extensive—and still ongoing—naval battle above the Ark, I found myself sitting in an amphibious elephant in the middle of an ocean waiting for the brass to tell us to run straight into the Loyalist guns.

A two-pronged attack had been ordered on the Citadel, the structure on the Ark which controlled the activation of the Halo rings. One force, headed by Commander Keyes, would take down the generator towers providing power for the energy barrier protecting the Citadel. The other force, led by General Edward 'Ironguts' Eckhart comprising of the 77th and 117th Marine Regiments, would be going in by sea and securing a landing on a beachhead several kilometers away from the Citadel which we had dubbed 'September Beach'. From there that force would destroy the Loyalist AA network, allowing the _Shadow of Intent_ to press forward and destroy the Citadel. My team would be accompanying the second force. After an extremely enlightening pelican ride from the _Shadow of Intent_ to the Ark's surface, Flight Officer Hayliger, out pilot, had dropped us off in one of the fleet of dozens of amphibious M315-AAM Elephant HRVs floating in the ocean underneath the six UNSC vessels which had accompanied the Separatists through the Portal.

We were sharing our AAM Elephant with a squadron of twenty marines from Bravo Company of the 77th Regiment. They were a fun bunch of people, cracking jokes and boasting what they would do when they got back home. They were all led by a Japanese sergeant named Hasegawa. Mr. Peterson, the elderly man from the 77th's HQ Operator staff, was serving as the driver of our Elephant, manning the armored cockpit on the upper tier of the large vehicle.

I sat cross-legged in the back corner of our Elephant next to Sam and Robin, waiting for our orders. We had been waiting with the marines for half an hour now as the rest of the Elephants were prepped, some of them with scorpion tanks.

"I was stationed on the bridge of the _Icy Resolve_ when we came in for our landing," Mr. Peterson, our Elephant's driver, explained to everyone as he slid down the ladder after prepping the Elephant's engines.

"You see what we're up against here?" Sergeant Hasegawa asked the older man.

Peterson gave a half nod, "Not very well—but our long range sensors picked up a _lot_ of Covenant armor on the cliffs beyond the beachhead. Possibly some small resistance on the beach itself, but…well, the whole damn thing doesn't look good. Altogether, we could be facing some of the toughest resistance we've 'ad since Reach or Delta Halo. We're gonna lose a lot of boys today."

The marines fell silent, taking in Peterson's prediction. I didn't like it one bit either, but Peterson couldn't help what he saw. "Oh, the hell with it," Hasegawa shrugged, "We'll give it our best shot."

"Oo-rah!" the other marines chanted in unison.

"Yeah, oo-rah, lucky effing us…" Robin grumbled under his breath.

"One last time, eh?" I said to my old friends, giving Sam's hand a squeeze. Sam returned the gesture, but she seemed distant. She had a hand clasped over her abdomen and looked almost sick. "You alright?" I asked her.

She snapped back to reality and quickly regained her composure. "Yeah, I'm fine," she shrugged off my concern, "Just a little sea-sick, I guess."

I could tell that she was lying, but before I could press her for answers the COM system in our Elephant's cockpit crackled to life. "All units, this is General Eckhart," the grizzled general's voice issued from the COM for all of us to hear. The transmission was being sent to all of the other Elephants in the assault force as well. "We have one last part to play in this fight, in this whole war. Billions of lives, decades of constant warfare; it's all come down to this last fight. Here, on the Ark. You will secure a landing on September Beach, you will press through the Loyalist defenses, and you will destroy their AA batteries. We will play our part and secure our future as a race, as a species. If we fail, if Truth activates the Rings, we will be the last of our kind. This _will not_ happen, marines. At least not on _my_ watch," the marines chuckled quietly with each other at that, "This will be one for the history books, marines! Every man and woman who fights on this day is _legend_. We will be remembered for centuries, maybe millennia, as the ones who helped to save our race. The road ahead is not an easy one; many of us will not live to see another day, but you've known this since Day One. I would give up everything for Humanity, how about _you,_ marines?!"

A deafening chorus of "OO-RAH!!!" swept through our fleet of Elephants from the throats and voices of the 2,500 marines and ODSTs in our assault force.

"Well then what are you waiting for, marines; do you want to live _forever?!_ Let's _end_ this goddamn war, here and now! All units, advance!"

Sam, Robin, and I all stood up, inspecting our weapons one last time. I bent down and grabbed my helmet, putting it over my head and sealing it, polarizing the blue faceplate so nothing could see through it. My teammates did likewise. Em and Tyrone, who had been sitting on the upper tier, jumped down and joined us and the marines.

Mr. Peterson sprang to his feet and clambered up the ladder on the side of the Elephant's interior up to the upper tier. "If any of you have Gods you wanna pray to, do it now," the old man suggested to us as he strode into the armored cockpit and took the controls.

The Elephant lurched forward as Peterson fired up the engines, sending us off on a one-way trip to September Beach five kilometers away. The spray of the ocean dampened the interior of the Elephant as we accelerated to full speed. The shimmering energy barrier and the mountains in the distance grew larger and larger as we drew near.

"Didn't they do something like this in one of those old wars on Earth the teachers kept rambling on about in History class?" one of the marines asked, the whole situation triggering memories.

"Who really gives a shit, Emerson?" one of the marine's buddies rolled his eyes, "History ain't gonna help us not get hit by plasmafire out there."

Our Elephant and the nearly two hundred others continued towards September beach for ten minutes without any problems. Once we were within sight of the actual beach, however, things started getting hairy. The Loyalists must have had a contingent of wraith tanks stationed along the cliffs beyond the beach because a shower of large glowing plasma bolts arced up high into the sky before coming back down on _us._ Most of the wraith shots impacted the water harmlessly, but several got lucky and clipped some of our Elephants.

More wraith shots soared into the sky and plasma turret fire from fixed positions and ghosts cut through the air all around us as the Loyalist defenders finally unloaded on us. I heard Mr. Peterson utter a dark curse when a string of plasmafire peppered the windshield. The windshield wasn't made of glass; it was some transparent polymer, so it held, but was still blackened by the fire. "Can't see a goddamn thing…" Peterson growled as he activated the windshield wipers and cleaners, which managed to clear away most of the ash.

As we neared the beach the waves began to get choppier, forced upwards by the rising land. The Elephant lurched and fell as we crested the breakers. "Thirty seconds!" Peterson called out from the cockpit.

"Listen up! The moment that ramp drops, we are to fan out and assume a covered offensive position one hundred yards up the beach," Hasegawa said to his men, shouting so that he could be heard, "There are numerous boulders and rock formations all over September, so we won't be out in the complete open! Any questions?!"

"Twenty seconds!" Peterson shouted.

"Good luck out there, all of you," Tyrone said to us over our private COM channel.

As we waited, more plasma bolts fell out of the sky, more of them hitting their targets. The Elephant next to us was hit, exploding in a fiery inferno. I saw two or three survivors leap into the ocean, but that was it.

Suddenly, a bright bluish-purple particle beam tore through the air and hit one of the marines in the head, boring right through. The marine was killed instantly, flopping backwards onto the floor. Only a jackal with a beam rifle could have done that. "Snipers!" I screamed, "Keep your heads down!" The dead marine's buddies all swore and hit the deck, not giving the jackal another shot. More plasma fire and beam rifle shots crisscrossed the air above our Elephant, but they didn't land inside. I heard more explosions as more Elephants were hit. We had to get out of this thing soon or we'd _all_ be cooked.

"Ten seconds!"

The Elephant slowed down a bit as we neared the beachhead. Finally, I felt the Elephant lurch as we hit the sand. Peterson beached the Elephant as far as possible before dropping the doors. "GO, GO, GO!" Hasegawa shouted.

The moment the deployment doors at the front of the Elephant opened, a storm of plasmafire ripped through. Five marines went down instantly, and several more were heavily wounded. "Move up! MOVE UP!" Hasegawa screamed. My team pushed forward alongside the surviving marines while I climbed up onto the upper tier of the Elephant. I crouched just below the rim of the protective armored edge of the Elephant, adjusting my scope for the appropriate distances. I saw similar scenes unfolding all up and down the rest of the beach; Elephants from the first wave landing, opening their doors, and having a good amount of the marines inside them slaughtered before they could even make it out into the beach. Those who survived dove for cover behind the boulders and rock formations which dotted the beach, returning sporadic fire. Interference or jamming signals rendered our COM systems useless. Every squad had been split up, even my team had been scattered in the chaos of the initial landing. From what I saw, Em and Robin had been separated from Sam and Tyrone, then separated from each other. Of the twenty marines who had been in our Elephant, only Hasegawa and three others had survived.

I pressed myself against the Elephant's side and rested the barrel of my sniper rifle on the rim. Sniping the jackal snipers was much easier now because they were busy picking off the survivors on the beach instead of hunting for me. There were at least twenty of them, all lined up on the cliffs, so I had to aim high. I was able to take four of them out before Peterson had to move the Elephant away from the beach to make room for the second wave. I reloaded my rifle and leaped off the top of the Elephant, splashing down into the water. I waded through the surf and reached the beach, setting off towards the nearest rock formation at my fastest sprint. The surviving Elephants of the first wave had all pulled away and the second wave was about to land. There were many more Elephants in the second wave because of the Loyalists having to expend much of their concentration on us, the ones who survived the first landing.

I lined up my sights and took down the remaining jackal snipers one by one, probably saving the lives of quite a few marines in the process. I tried to take down the mounted heavy plasma turret and light plasma cannon positions, but every time I sniped the grunt or brute manning the heavy support weapons another would always take its place.

Less than a minute later, the second wave of marines landed. The Elephants' deployment doors fell open and the squadrons of marines poured out, wading through the dirty waters and stepping over the strewn corpses of their comrades from the first wave. Several of them threw up on the spot while others only just managed to keep it in, but most of them were able to advance up the beachhead.

September Beach was the only beachhead suitable for landing on for at least a dozen kilometers. It was basically a break in the cliffs which formed the coast of the central landmass. It was two klicks long and ran inland half a klick before running into steep foothills. The remaining distance to the Loyalist AA batteries was thought to be ten kilometers, but it was really only five. The scouts had miscalculated the distance to the mountains which the AA batteries were in. After pushing through the foothills we would have to advance through the small range of mountains beyond them before we made it to the AA batteries. If we ever made it off the beach, that is.

Bolstered by the second wave, we began to finally get a defensive line started, but no matter how hard we tried, we couldn't take down the mounted turrets by ourselves; we needed to _completely_ destroy them, not just kill their gunners. Just as it seemed we were doomed to an eternal stalemate, brutes emerged from cover behind the rock formations further up the beach, led by a chieftain wielding a gravity hammer.

I heard surprised shouts from all along our line as the brutes charged us. I slung my sniper rifle over my back and wielded my M7 caseless SMG; I couldn't get a clear shot at the attacking aliens without potentially shooting a marine, so I decided to get some closer fighting in. I broke cover and sprinted forward, dodging the resulting hail of plasmafire, to join the marines at the head of our advance who were pinned down. I blew past the marines and dove for cover behind a boulder as the charging brutes fired their spikers at me. The glowing yellow projectiles thudded into the rock and sand all around me. Three brutes sprinted around the boulder I was behind and came at me all at once. I barely had time to raise my SMG, let alone fire it. I squeezed off a quick burst, which clanged harmlessly against the first brute's helmet. That first brute leaped the remaining distance and slapped the SMG out of my hands. I delivered a swift kick to the brute's midsection, temporarily stunning it. I mentally swore to myself—kicking brutes like that _really_ hurt my leg. It was comparable to kicking a solid brick wall, but I had little choice in this case. I quickly drew my magnum sidearm and jammed it under the stunned brute's chin, blowing its brains sky-high.

With brute number one down, I unslung my sniper rifle and brought it around to face number two. I wielded it like a stave and dealt a heavy blow to its head, following up with a single shot. I didn't bother aiming through the scope or lining up with the sights, I fired my sniper rifle from the hip. Now, all that no-scope training that I had endured back on Onyx seemed to be paying off. The round tore through the brute's helm, killing it instantly.

I whipped around to face brute number three, but it had already reached me while I was occupied with its two friends. The brute lashed out first, striking my left arm. My eyes stung with tears as I felt the bones fracture like half-broken twigs. The brute struck me again, this time in the abdomen. I went down hard, collapsing face-down into the sand, gasping for breath. The brute gripped my shoulder and flipped me onto my back while drawing its mauler sidearm. It aimed its weapon straight at my face and gave a satisfied chuckle. Its finger tightened around the trigger and a loud _**BANG**_ rang out. I instantly tensed up, waiting for the agony of the mauler shell to tear into my torso…but it never came. The brute had stopped laughing. In fact, it had stopped doing _everything;_ it just stood there, its expression frozen on its face. Then it pitched forward into the sand, unmoving— revealing Tyrone, who had been standing behind it. I sat up and noticed that the entire back of the brute's head was gone, blown away. Tyrone, his shotgun still smoking, held out a hand and hauled me to my feet.

"Third wave is about to land!" he shouted over the battle, "We're pressing to the hills when they advance! Your arm okay?!"

"No!" I shouted back, retrieving my SMG, "It's _not_ okay, I can't use it very well, but I can still fight, don't worry about me! Where's the rest of our team?!"

"I don't know; we got separated when our Elephant landed! I've _seen_ everyone but Em, though!"

Tyrone and I hunkered down behind our boulder and waited roughly thirty seconds for our next wave of reinforcements. Sure enough, right on time, the third wave arrived. Two dozen Elephants, all of them bearing M808B Main Battle Tanks, or 'Scorpions' as the common soldiers referred to them as, beached onto the shore and dropped their doors. The tanks rolled out and advanced up the beaches. As they moved forward, their main cannons swiveled and fired as they acquired their targets, sending heavy 90 millimeter tungsten armor-piercing ballistic-capped rounds barreling into the Loyalist turret positions, blowing them sky-high.

The attacking brutes had been wiped out by now, allowing us to advance without directly running into anything except plasmafire from the remaining turrets. The tanks passed our position, followed by all of the surviving marines. "Move!" Ty shouted, getting to his feet and hauling me after him.

The tank drivers expertly moved their scorpions up the beach, taking out Loyalist defenses and dodging plasma bolts fired by the wraiths beyond the hills. We joined the marines in the charge to the foothills, sprinting through the sand through the plasmafire coming from the remaining plasma cannons. By the time we had reached the grass of the foothills, the tanks had taken out all of the turrets and Loyalist ground forces. Tyrone and I were the first to climb to the top of the first hill, just in time to see the last of the Loyalist wraiths vanish into the mountains nearly five kilometers away. All that was left was a small purple tower-like structure. Whatever it was, it was destroyed by the first scorpion to crest the hill. It must have been what the Loyalists had been using to jam our signals, because the moment it went up in flames our COM systems began to work again.

The channels were flooded with requests for medics, sit-reps to superior officers, etc. etc. I tuned it all out and switched to the private channel which my team shared. "Team Rapier, this is Tyrone…just wanna make sure you're all alive, so check in. I've already got Alex, so everyone else give me an 'okay'."

"I'm good…more or less…" Robin responded, followed by a "Yeah, I'm good," from Sam. I sighed in relief once I heard her voice.

"Em, we don't have all day, acknowledge!" Tyrone raised his voice, but there was no response from Em. "Anyone seen Em?" a note of worry started to creep into Ty's voice. Sam and Robin both reported back 'negative'. Just then, a new voice spoke on our channel, the familiar Manchester-accented voice belonging to Captain Ian McCandlish. "Team Rapier…there's somethin' you ought to see."

"Come on," Ty murmured, leading me back down towards the beach. We headed down to the spot where our Elephant had originally dropped us, then several hundred yards up and to the right to the place where Captain McCandlish had told us to come. A small group of silent, somber marines were clustered around Captain McCandlish and Doc. Hoffman from the ODST Spec. Ops squad. They were crouching over a smaller body clad in ODST armor. I noted the silver rapier symbol engraved on the helmet. "Oh no…" I whispered.

Ty bent down and removed the helmet, revealing the motionless, unmoving face of Emma-G132. Her body was riddled with numerous plasma burns; it had been a plasma cannon that took her down. She had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was shaken to my core, utterly speechless. I had seen fellow spartans die, and that had been painful enough, but Em was family to me…the others of Team Rapier are _all_ family to me…and to lose one of _them_ was just…indescribable.

It took us half an hour to storm September Beach. _Half an hour_…it was such an interesting increment of time. People usually take 'half an hour' for granted, but when nearly one thousand lives are extinguished in half an hour, initial perspectives tend to change. Sometimes you could blink your eye and that 'half an hour' would pass, other times it would drag on for years. 2,500 marines and five spartans attacked September beach half an hour ago, only 1,600 marines and _four_ spartans would be leaving it. I think we all knew which kind of half hour the last one had been.


	23. Chapter 22: No Battle Plan is Infallible

Chapter Twenty-Two: No Battle Plan is Infallible

**0500 Hours, December 20, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Installation 00_The 'Ark', Near the Citadel**

**September Beach**

**Spartan-III Alex-G004**

Sam and Robin had arrived less than a minute after me and Tyrone, breathless from sprinting the entire way. They had taken one look at Em's corpse and had fallen silent as well…utterly shaken. No one spoke for the longest time until Doc Hoffman finally broke the silence. "She was hit multiple times by fire from a plasma cannon…as you can see. She died quickly, if it's of any consolation."

"Preparations are being made to get her body back to the _Winter_," a deep, grizzled voice came from behind me. We all turned around, coming face to face with none other than General Ironguts Eckhart himself. Hoffman, McCandlish, and the marines all stiffened and snapped to attention. My team did likewise.

Eckhart let out an audible sigh, saying, "Please, you spartans just lost a family member. You can drop the formalities. That goes for all of you," he added after we relaxed, allowing the marines to do the same, "I'm so sorry it's come to this…war truly _is_ Hell."

"What are our orders, sir?" Captain McCandlish asked, "The boys could use a clear voice of reason after this, if you get my meaning."

Eckhart nodded in agreement, "Report back to your company, Ian, and get them moving. We have to get through these foothills. Recon says the AA batteries are just before the mountain range which the energy barrier is on. Intel also says that Commander Keyes's force has begun their assault on the generator towers, so we're going to have to move fast. We'll need to—"

Suddenly the air was filled with shouts and exclamations from all of the marines on the beachhead. I looked up into the sky and saw why; a Loyalist CCS-class Battlecruiser was plunging down through the clouds, flames and smoke pouring out of its engines. Our allies above must have hit their engines, but not dealt a more mortal blow before it was dragged into the Ark's gravity well. The cruiser continued to fall from the sky uncomfortable close to us until it vanished below our line of sight, impacting in the forests several kilometers way off to the side of September Beach with an almighty explosion, followed by a slight tremor in the ground.

"At least _this_ one doesn't have Flood on it…" one of the marines grumbled, remembering all to well what had happened in Voi.

"Report to your units," Eckhart ordered the marines, dismissing them, before turning to us, "I want you four on a warthog; you can deal the defenders at their AA batteries a good blow along with the scorpions as the rest of our forces arrive. I have Flight Officer Hayliger's bird on its way with your vehicle; he'll be here shortly. I've also asked him to take your comrade's body back to the _Winter,_ so give him a hand with that. Do you have any questions?"

"No, sir," Tyrone shook his head, speaking for all of us.

"Then you are dismissed as well. Wait for Hayliger to arrive, and then catch up with us. I have to get the regiments moving _now_. Good luck."

"Sir!" we all said in unison before forcing ourselves to walk away from Em's body.

Tyrone, Robin, and I all meandered down to the waterline in silence, letting recent events crash through our minds. We passed Father Malone, the 77th Marine Regiment's chaplain who had lived through the whole war, including this battle, without a scratch, moving from corpse to corpse with the medics, giving the dead and dying marines their final incantations depending on what religion they were. I noticed that Sam hadn't joined us; she was still back at the spot where Em had died, deep in conversation with Doc Hoffman, the ODST Spec. Ops medic. They spoke in hushed tones for a full minute before Sam gave the medic a grateful nod and left, moving to rejoin us.

She reached us the same time as Flight Officer Hayliger's pelican, which had come from the ships waiting out over the ocean, bearing an M12G1 Light Anti-Armor 'Gauss' Warthog on its tail-mounted magnetic clamps. Hayliger brought the pelican over the sand before releasing the vehicle. The Gauss warthog hit the ground, bouncing on its shock-absorbing suspension. The cockpit door hissed open and the Flight Officer himself emerged, crouching at the edge of the deployment ramp. "The General told me that I was to transport the body of a spartan back the _Breath of Winter_. I really hope he was lying, but old Ironguts isn't renowned for dishonesty."

"Follow me," Tyrone sighed, "It's a few hundred yards away from here."

While Tyrone, followed by Hayliger's pelican, made his way back over to Em's body, the rest of us prepped the gauss warthog for battle. Robin climbed into the driver's seat, getting a feel for the wheel and controls. I hopped into the passenger seat, allowing Sam to squeeze between me and Robin before settling in and placing my sniper rifle down on the floor.

"Normal warthogs are one thing, but these Gauss models…" Robin trailed off, grinning. I swear he was probably a step away from petting the dashboard. He fired up the engines and gave them a good rev before hitting the gas and propelling us forward, sending up a small plume of sand behind us as the warthog plowed up the beach. We reached Tyrone and Hayliger in time to see Ty carry Em's corpse into the pelican and lay it flat on one of the side benches. He gazed at it for several seconds, giving one last farewell nod, before hopping out onto the beach. "Alright, Hayliger, she's aboard. Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Flight Officer Hayliger replied over the COM, "Be careful out there, boys. I don't want to do this again. Good luck." With that, Hayliger fired up the pelican's thrusters, ascending higher into the air before soaring away out towards the UNSC ships stationed out in the ocean.

"He's not the only one," Sam grumbled.

Ty approached us and climbed into the rear of the warthog, grabbing hold of the M68 Gauss Cannon and swiveling it around in a full revolution, getting a feel for the new weapon as opposed to the more common M41 LAAG. "Let's do this."

"One step ahead of you," Robin was already hitting the gas, sending us lurching forward at a reasonable speed towards the foothills a klick away. We cleared the distance in thirty seconds. We reached the summit of one of the first hills and were rewarded with a wide vista of rolling hills and high cliffs and buttresses. The layout of the terrain forced the remaining marines to funnel through a gorge which ran right through the twisting hills and cliffs, a natural pathway to the mountains five klicks away. Because of the rugged nature of the gorge, Robin had to be vigilant of natural obstacles such as hairpin turns or sudden rocks or holes in the ground. The gorge itself was two or three kilometers wide, allowing the 1,600 surviving marines in our assault force to advance comfortably in a staggered column. By the time we caught up with the marines, Eckhart had gotten them two klicks in. Robin slowed our warthog down as we passed the marines and joined ranks with the other warthogs and the scorpions.

"Ah, Team Rapier, glad you could join us," Captain Swell, the commanding officer of the contingent of tanks hailed us over the COM from his scorpion. I recognized Swell's voice instantly; his was one of the near-legendary names in the UNSC. For the past six years Captain Christopher Swell had commanded the 127th Armored Contingent, an informal group of scorpion tanks operated by handpicked men. They had been a meat-grinder for Covenant forces in every battle they had participated in. Swell had also been under investigation at one time for using controversial training methods on Reach involving having his tanks run through the training courses while under live fire from captured Covenant wraiths, but because of his recent performance in battle, Internal Affairs had decided to bury the hatchet. The UNSC couldn't afford to lose anymore good officers like him.

Our column continued to advance through the winding ravine without any incidents or resistance from the Loyalists, which made me uneasy. From my experience with the Covenant, they were probably consolidating all of their forces to prepare for our arrival. They would round up everything they had to give us an almighty bitch-slap at the end rather than waste precious armor and personnel trying to hamper us. It's what I would have done in their shoes. Then again, if we had been in their shoes, the marines would never have made it off September Beach, so what we would have done was irrelevant.

There's an old proverb which says that 'All good things must come to an end', and it was true. Our smooth, uninterrupted advance through the gorge ended the moment we reached the other side, in front of the mountains. The Loyalist AA batteries, _fifteen of them_, were all situated in a cleft between a foothill and the sheer rise of the mountain range. The batteries themselves were individually placed on high points such as the summits of foothills to ensure that they had a maximum ability to sight targets in the air while at the same time being hidden away from most conventional hostile fire. It was a textbook arrangement.

The catch was that there was a large force of hundreds of brutes, well over a thousand grunts, and a formidable amount of jackals. I also spied three Hunter pairs, enough to make my stomach quiver. Spotting us, a blaring alarm went off in the Loyalist encampment. Plasma cannons, shade turrets, and wraiths erupted to life, spitting large bolts of plasma in our direction. Ghosts and brute choppers emerged from the encampment and thundered towards us, spraying us with plasmafire.

The advancing marines, guided by General Eckhart and the surviving company commanders, scattered, heading for any cover they could find while the scorpions slowed down to a crawl. Destroying the ghosts and choppers was not their fight; that was one for the specialists. And us.

"All units, choose your targets carefully," Captain Swell's voice issued from the COM, talking to his squad, "Be aware of friendly positions and hostile clusters and pick your shots accordingly. Blow 'em all to Hell, boys!"

Swell's scorpion and the twenty-three others in his contingent all acquired their lucky first targets and opened fire. Their rounds tore into the advancing Loyalist armor. Several ghosts and a chopper went up in flames, but the others that were hit were only damaged, requiring another shot to finish them.

Suddenly, a series of green flashes burst out from the upper tiers of the nearest AA batteries. Those green projectiles streaked through the air, most of them colliding into the ground, but two of them hit one of the scorpions off to the far right. The tank stopped momentarily, its armor badly mangled and scored and a small fire starting up in its rear grille.

"Lucifer Sixteen, do you copy?!" Swell exclaimed, "Sixteen please respond, over. I need a status report!"

The COM crackled briefly before a new voice answered Swell, this one fuzzier with noticeable background din. "Sir, this is Lucifer Sixteen! I've sustained two hits from a fuel-rod cannon to my right-side lateral armor…engine systems are acting up a little and my turret is offline, but my main cannon is okay! She'll hold together as long as I don't get hit like again!"

"Team Rapier," Captain Swell addressed us, "Press forward and take out as many fuel-rod gunners as you can; it'll give us a lot less to sweat about. We'll handle the rest of the Loyalist armor."

We didn't even bother with a response; Robin stomped on the gas and sent us shooting forward at full speed. "This is more like it…" he murmured, keeping vigilant of his surroundings. When a Loyalist vehicle or turret opened fire at us, Robin would yank the wheel hard to a side and manipulate the warthog's e-brake, spinning us to the side on a dime and avoiding the plasmafire. We accelerated out of the gorge and into the open cleft which the AA batteries were situated in. I grabbed my sniper rifle from the floor of the warthog and tried to raise it, but a wave of white-hot pain exploded from my broken left arm as I moved it. Doc Hoffman had injected my arm with bio-foam, but it still had a ways to go before it was ready for use again.

"Sam, I know this is gonna sound crazy," I yelled over the din, "but I need you to hold up my rifle for me. I can't do it with my arm all busted up!"

Sam didn't even give me a crazy look; she silently leaned over me and grasped the stock of my sniper rifle with her right hand, planting her elbow on the seat. I took care of the aiming, adjusting my sights as we drew past the nearest AA battery. I narrowed my eyes as the grunt carrying the fuel-rod gun came into focus, waiting for my opportunity. I took into account the movement of the warthog and aimed slightly to the left of the grunt as we passed before firing. The shot went true, burying itself into the grunt's methane tank, causing it to detonate in a brilliant blue explosion.

As we wove our way through the Loyalist defenses, Tyrone opened up on them with the Gauss cannon. The M68 was basically a miniature MAC cannon; it fired hyper-velocity, high-density projectiles utilizing an asynchronous linear-induction motor to create a bipolar magnetic field which was capable of firing the gauss rounds faster than the speed of sound. Due to their hyper-velocity conditions, the projectiles always vaporized upon contact with most physical matter, vaporizing that matter as well. As such, the Gauss cannon was a nightmare for most armored vehicles and infantry, as long as its user could aim. Tyrone sure as hell could aim; he was taking ghosts and choppers out with two well-placed shots for each. As we drew past the next AA battery, he swiveled the cannon up and fired at the fuel-rod gunner in the upper tier, hitting the unfortunate grunt dead-on. There wasn't even a stain left behind.

We continued in our evasive circuit around the Loyalist encampment, avoiding hostile plasmafire while taking out their fuel-rod gunners to ease the pressure on the advancing scorpions. Tyrone had also taken out a number of their shade turrets before we returned to where we had started, and Swell's tanks eventually destroyed the rest. The scorpions had split into two groups, each group flanking the Loyalist infantry from both sides. Our marines had advanced, under cover of the scorpions which were now free of the danger of the fuel-rod guns. As soon as we had taken enough of the fuel-rod gunners out—Sam and I working together to kill some while Ty got the rest with the Gauss cannon—the scorpions had immediately pressed forward and killed the Hunters, as they posed the most threat after the Loyalist vehicles were destroyed. It was satisfying to watch; Hunters were normally every infantryman's nightmare, but a scorpion tank could kill them with one shot as casually as a man taking a stroll.

Our marines clashed with the remaining Loyalist infantry, which by now seemed to be fighting merely to survive as Swell's scorpions proceeded to destroy the AA batteries one by one. I felt another pang of sorrow, knowing how easily we had taken them down before with Em and her charges…I shook those thoughts from my head and looked up from my sniper rifle, my job done. "Thanks," I said to Sam, "You're welcome to keep leaning that way, but you don't need to hold the rifle anymore."

"Wishful thinking, Ace," Sam chuckled, straightened up, settling back into her makeshift seat. As we watched the battle wrap up, the shimmering energy barrier over the mountains which prevented us access to the Citadel seemed to fizzle, and then it faded away. Vanished. Gone.

It was perfect timing, as the last AA battery went up in flames right afterwards.

"_Shadow of Intent,_ this is General Eckhart with the ground forces. The AA batteries are neutralized, you are clear to proceed. Good luck, Shipmaster."

Robin pulled our warthog to a halt to watch the fireworks. I looked up to the sky, noticing the _Shadow of Intent_ holding position close to the ground several klicks down the coast from us, its sights set on the Citadel beyond the mountains. "Now, Prophet…your end has come," the shipmaster declared over the COM as the Separatist assault carrier fired up its thrusters and advanced towards the Citadel. This was it, this was finally the end. The Prophet of Truth would be killed and the war would finally, _finally_, end.

Suddenly, I heard the rushing sound that signified a slipspace rupture before I actually saw it. A huge circular slipstream rupture appeared high in the sky, off over the void in the center of the Ark. From it emerged a colossal mushroom-shaped planetoid or space station…it had a prominent dome-shaped top with a stalk comprised of machinations and docking facilities trailing off below. Now, it was plummeting head-first down into the Ark.

"High Charity…" General Eckhart whispered over the COM, recognizing the Covenant Holy City. I also noticed that the mobile planetoid wasn't the customary purple and blue of almost every Covenant installation, instead it was oddly discolored. It had a sickly yellowish-green hue, along with some smoky substance issuing from it like toxic waste.

"By the Gods, brace for impact!" the Sangheili shipmaster shouted, utterly blindsided by the Holy City's sudden appearance. The planetoid was still too high up to collide with the assault carrier, but I noticed that there was a lot of debris breaking off of the city. Each individual piece of debris was just as discolored as the rest of the city and gave off its own smoky trail.

One such piece of debris hit the Separatist assault carrier and punched through its hull, bursting out the other side and continuing towards the ground. The _Shadow of Intent_ listed, spinning out of control briefly before its shipmaster managed to stabilize it.

I heard exclamations of "Flood…" and "Parasite…" all over the COM channels, accompanied by a cacophony of mixed streams of profanity coming from the more disgruntled marines.

The mushroom-shaped planetoid continued on its crash-course until it hit the ground somewhere off on the other side of the mountains in front of us.

"Well _that_ plan just went down the crapper…" Tyrone muttered.

"Shipmaster, what's your status?!" the voice of Commander Miranda Keyes issued from our COM, speaking quickly.

"Significant damage…weapons systems disabled!" the deep voice of the shipmaster responded.

"Move to a safe distance! Stay away from the Flood!" Keyes ordered the shipmaster.

"Why would the Parasite come here?!" the shipmaster exclaimed as he moved his ship away from the battle, turning out to the ocean and heading towards the UNSC ships stationed out there.

"All units, this is General Eckhart; pull back to September Beach _immediately_ and wait for extraction. Mr. Peterson, contact our ships out there and bring 'em in, we need to get off this rock _now_. When the Infection forms reach us in this place with all of these brute corpses lying around, it'll be a bloodbath," Eckhart ordered all of us over the COM, "Captain Swell, Team Rapier; I want you to proceed directly to the Citadel. I'm sending Captain McCandlish with you; you'll take your orders from him. Commander Keyes's force is going to punch through the mountains from their side to capture the Citadel, but they're going to need all the help they can get. Swell, choose nine of your men to accompany you, leave the rest here. I may need them if the Flood hit us."

"Yes, sir," all of us replied, killing the channel. As we prepped to get moving, Eckhart rounded up all of the marines and got them moving back into the gorge, heading back towards the beach. Fourteen of Swell's tanks broke off from his formation, following the marines. The other ten formed up alongside the warthogs.

"Move out!" Captain McCandlish ordered us. Robin revved our engines and accelerated to the front of the column, taking our place next to McCandlish's warthog.

"Well, at least Eckhart didn't say 'One Final Effort'…nearly as bad as saying 'What could possibly go wrong now?'" Robin grumbled as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and hit the gas.

As one, we all started to advance towards the break in the mountains three klicks to our right which would lead us straight to the Citadel where hopefully we could salvage some of our battle plan and stop Truth before we all got turned into Flood Combat forms, then find the so-called solution to the Flood and get the hell outta here. Ideally, at least. I knew as well as any other self-respecting soldier that plans such as these _never_ pan out the way you expect them to.


	24. Chapter 23: Our Part in This is Over

Chapter Twenty-Three: Our Part in This is Over

**0630 Hours, December 20, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Installation 00_The 'Ark', Near the Citadel**

**Unknown Mountain Range, Near the Citadel**

**Spartan-III Alex-G004**

The monotonous hum of the Gauss warthog's engine had long since faded into the background din of the other warthogs and scorpions in our assault force. We were traveling through the thick woods and forestry which covered the mountains we were trying to traverse. We couldn't fly over because it would take too long to load up ten scorpions and six warthogs, including our own, into a ship to redeploy on the other side. Besides, all of our ships were busy at September Beach trying to evac all of our forces before the Flood started to hit them. They were also collecting the bodies of all of those who fell during the storming of September Beach. We weren't leaving our boys for the Flood to eat; they deserved better than that.

Our assault force had managed to take down the Loyalist AA batteries which prevented the _Shadow of Intent_ from advancing at the same time Commander Keyes's force had shut down the energy barrier, allowing the Separatist assault carrier to move forward. The original plan was to have the _Shadow of Intent_ destroy the Citadel, killing the Prophet of Truth and thus ending the war. However, a Flood-infested High Charity's sudden arrival damaged the _Shadow of Intent_, rendering our original battle plan moot. An attack had been ordered to take the Citadel, and I was among the reinforcements sent by General Eckhart to assist. After all, the Citadel was where the Loyalists had their strongest presence. Captain Swell and his tanks would be a more than welcome addition.

"Multiple contacts due…uh…two o' clock!" one of the scorpion operators warned us over the COM. Because the Ark wasn't a spherical planet, we weren't able to accurately have a North, South, East, and West. That had hampered communications and coordination somewhat, forcing us to use 'right', 'left', 'over there', and the clock directions. So far we were managing, but it was a tough transition.

I glanced out to our right in the direction the scorpion tank had indicated and saw a group of five Flood combat forms with a swarm of infection forms skittering after them. "I got 'em," Tyrone nearly yawned as he swiveled the M68 Gauss cannon around to face the Flood, loosing off a burst of three shots, vaporizing the Parasite. As we forged ahead through the forest, trying to reach the other side of the mountains, we had encountered sporadic groups of Flood such as that. Even though they were attacking sporadically, we were starting to come across more and more of them as they began to spread from the spot where High Charity had crashed.

"We're coming up on the ridges! Eyes out for Loyalist fortifications," Captain McCandlish advised everyone over the COM.

"Prime your cannons, boys," Swell hollered, "We're in for a tough fight!"

The thick woods of the forest gradually thinned and thinned until we found ourselves on the edge of a ridge on the opposite side of the mountain range overlooking the void in the center of the Ark. We turned left and followed the ridge, which was curving around to the left in a convex angle.

"Wraith!" the warning cry came. Sure enough, a lone Covenant wraith tank was waiting for us further down the ridge, reinforced by a handful of ghosts, a brute prowler, and a mounted anti-gravity assault platform fixed with plasma cannons.

Captain Swell and his tanks broke formation, spacing away from each other to avoid forming concentrated clusters. Then the ten scorpions opened fire, sending their heavy tungsten rounds screaming into the Loyalist vehicles. As the plasma cannons on the assault platform opened fire, peppering the lead scorpion with plasmafire, Tyrone loosed off a shot from the Gauss cannon. The round wasn't enough to destroy the platform, but it was enough to knock it off its axis, sending it crashing to the ground and rendering it useless. The wraith opened fire, sending fiery blue plasma bolts from its mortar streaking into the sky. Swell and his men expertly maneuvered their tanks to avoid the deadly bolts. Lucifer Twelve, one of the scorpions on the edge of the formation, loosed off a shot at the wraith and hit its plasma mortar, disabling it. Even though its mortar was gone, it still had its plasma cannon. I scowled in frustration; normally I could take the gunner out with a single easy shot, but now my left arm was broken, making that feat impossible. I needed to be lying prone on the ground with something to prop my rifle on, not a moving vehicle.

Several more scorpion rounds impacted the wraith, mangling its armor and destroying the engines until it finally succumbed, exploding in a fiery blast. The brute prowler met a similar fate. The scorpions fired off a final volley and finished off any of the surviving vehicles while the warthogs took out the handful of ground troops.

"Hostiles eliminated, move up!" McCandlish ordered. Our force continued up along the ridge. Eventually we rounded the whole mountain and the Citadel came into view, set in a cleft between this mountain and the next. It was a huge towering structure built into the side of the cliff face, jutting out over the cloud-filled void. Commander Keyes's force, which comprised of a single scorpion tank, two warthogs, two hornets, and a platoons worth of marines, had established their presence on a ridge off in the back of the cleft where the proper entrance to the small valley was located. Through that entrance was the route leading all the way back to one of the generator towers.

As we arrived, I saw a bright blue energy bridge activate, running from a small building towards the edge of the valley up to a hidden entrance mid-way up the Citadel tower. I spied two figures—a particularly large armored human and an Elite—along with a spherical, glowing blue Forerunner AI Monitor, make their way across the bridge and duck inside. Before I had a chance to open my mouth in exclamation, recognizing the human, _two_ scarab platforms literally dropped out of the sky and landed on either side of the small Forerunner building on the ground. As one, they both turned towards Commander Keyes's beleaguered forces and fired their huge plasma turrets and forward beam cannons, blanketing the ridge with a shower of plasma.

"Looks like we've just met the life of the party…" Robin murmured as we rounded the final bend and rolled into the valley.

"Sam!" Tyrone shouted down at us, "You think you could climb one of those scarabs' legs?!"

"Yeah, I can give it a shot!" Sam yelled in response, quietly swearing under her breath afterwards.

Ty nodded, his mind made up. "Robin, take us in!"

"Fasten your seatbelts, ladies!" Robin yelled over the din as he shifted our warthog into gear and accelerated ahead of the scorpions, straight towards the pair scarabs.

Sam tapped my shoulder lightly as we bounced and skidded towards the scarabs, her intent clear. She stood up awkwardly and let me slide over and settle into her seat while she took my place in the passenger's seat. We reached the first scarab and rocketed through its legs, avoiding getting crushed by them when they moved and stomped. We rushed clear of the first scarab, which Captain Swell's scorpions had begun to pound with their ordinance, and moved on towards the second scarab across the valley. The monstrous Covenant heavy assault platform seemed to notice us for the first time, turning its forward beam cannon right towards us and firing. A crackling blue stream of plasma erupted from the cannon and blanketed the ground in front of us, moving closer and closer to our warthog.

Robin's grip on the wheel tightened, but he didn't turn yet. He stayed the course until, at the very last second when the beam of plasma was only yards away, he wrenched the e-brake and yanked the wheel hard to the right. The warthog spun on a dime and continued on its new heading while the plasma completely missed. Robin laughed maniacally, whooping at his achievement as he corrected our course, turning back towards the scarab.

"Crazy bastard…" I heard Ty mutter.

We dodged several more plasma bolts aimed at us before we finally reached the scarab. Robin maneuvered us so that we shot right down the center before edging to the right so that we would pass right alongside the scarab's back-left support leg.

"Good luck," I whispered to Sam as we neared the leg.

Sam gave my hand a squeeze as we passed the scarab's leg, and then stood up and leaped off of our warthog, flying through the air towards the leg. Our warthog shot out from under the scarab at full speed, heading right towards the cliff face until Robin turned us away in a wide arc back towards the other side of the valley where Swell's tanks were spread out. I slid back into the passenger seat and twisted around to look at the scarab we had just blown past. I spotted Sam, who was hanging onto the scarab's leg with a single hand. She had made it, but barely. She reached up and grasped a ridge of armor with her other hand and started to pull herself up the leg.

"Look for the power core," Tyrone told Sam over the private COM channel, "You'll know it when you see it."

"Alright," Sam's response was, "See you boys on the other side."

As we headed back towards Swell's tanks, one of the banshees in the air broke off from dogfighting with the two hornets and started to pepper and strafe us with plasmafire. Robin pulled on the wheel and heaved us out of the way of the deadly plasma. The banshee broke off its run and pulled up to avoid crashing. It executed a full flip and climbed into the air before banking and swooping in for another strafing run. Just as it started to open fire, Ty fired the Gauss cannon and explosion hit the banshee's right-side thruster, destroying it. With only one remaining thruster, the banshee spun out of control and slammed into the ground in a fiery spectacle.

Tyrone relaxed his grip on the Gauss cannon, letting out an audible sigh. "You know, I almost miss the good old times when the Elites drove those things, at least they were a challenge to shoot down. This was almost insulting…"

He was about to say more, but he broke off when suddenly a pelican sped through the sky above towards the top of the Citadel at full speed. It didn't waver, but it continued on its course until it collided with the windows at the very top of the massive structure and broke right through, shattering the glass and flying inside.

"That was Commander Keyes's pelican," Robin murmured in horror, "What the hell was she doing?!"

"Shut up, Rob, we still have a pair of scarabs to destroy in case you haven't forgotten," Tyrone barked sharply, returning us to reality.

We linked back up with Swell's tanks, which had managed to take out the armor protecting the rear of the first scarab, exposing its pulsating power core. The scorpions were now trying to squeeze a shot through the opening to the core. One hit there and the scarab was finished. It took another five minutes of dodging plasmafire until ultimately the scorpion driven by Captain Swell himself loosed off a shot which flew straight through the armor protecting the sides of the power core and into the power core itself, fatally damaging it. The pulsing blue light on the core turned red and the pulsing grew much more rapid. The scarab froze, its plasma turret and beam cannon ceasing their fire. Its legs gave out and it slowly lowered to the ground. Blue energy and small explosions crackled all over the huge Covenant assault platform until it let out a final groan and exploded in an almighty blue conflagration. The explosion was big enough to generate a small shockwave which nearly caused our warthog to tip over.

"First scarab's down, concentrate your fire on the other one!" McCandlish ordered everyone over the COM.

"Negative, sir, I have a spartan _on_ that scarab, hold your fire!" Tyrone quickly exclaimed over the COM before any of Swell's scorpions could open fire.

"Acknowledged, Rapier," the English Captain responded.

"There it goes!" one of the Swell's men exclaimed over the COM. We all turned towards the second scarab, which was now riddled with small explosions and energy surges as it squatted down towards the ground. Sam must have finally destroyed the power core. As the scarab reached its lowest possible height, we saw a small figure leap out of the open rear and fall to the ground. Robin immediately stomped on the gas, sending us rocketing forward towards the meltdown-in-progress second scarab. We skidded to an abrupt halt next to Sam just as she was picking herself up. She jumped onto the side of the warthog and threw herself into the front seat across my lap as Robin hit the gas once more and sped us away from the scarab. The scarab then finally blew up, much to the same effect as the previous explosion. Robin slowed us down so that the shockwave wouldn't send us flying.

Once all of the debris hit the ground, we came to a stop. The remains of the other assault force on the ridge came down and linked up with Swell's tanks and our warthogs, which were in the process of shooting down the final pair of Loyalist banshees. Even though we had taken the scarabs down, the Loyalist defenders still had dozens of ghosts and several wraiths in the area contesting for control.

Suddenly, the ground started to shake. Not a traumatic quake, more of a light tremor, but it was still more than enough to be felt.

"What the—" I started to say, but I was cut off by a cry of "Look!" from Sam. I gazed over beyond the Citadel out into the massive cloud-filled void in the center of the Ark with the hazy black strip mining moon in the center. Rising out of the void was a colossal, gigantic wall of gray metal. It was so huge that I couldn't see the edges; it ran as far as the eye could see. Eventually, after a minute as it continued to rise, the end of the seemingly endless wall came, giving us back our view over the void. As the wall rose high enough into the sky, I noticed that it wasn't really a wall; it was actually part of a massive ring encompassing the perimeter of the entire void. We were looking at a Halo ring.

"Must be a replacement for Installation 04…" Tyrone murmured, referencing the first Halo ring discovered by the UNSC which had been destroyed at the end of the battle that had taken place on its surface.

The Halo ring continued to ascend into the sky, nearly ready for use. I couldn't help but wonder if this had something to do with the 'solution' to the Flood that UNSC AI's message from the crashed Flood ship in Voi had been talking about.

Then, right afterwards, the utterly unthinkable happened, as if Fate had decided to deliberately set itself against us today. We were shaken out of our awestruck reverie of the Halo ring's sudden appearance by two rapid searing laser sounds, the sound made by a firing beam rifle. Two particle beams from the Covenant sniper rifle punched through our warthog's windshield in quick succession, one right after the other. They seared right through the windshield and straight into Robin's chest. My old friend jerked in his seat, his head flopping back onto the headrest and his arms dropping from the wheel. His breathing became irregular and he started to convulse.

It wasn't until Tyrone's scream for a medic over the COM snapped me back to reality that I registered what had just happened. _No_..._not again_... I moaned to myself. First Em, now Robin, both within hours of each other...

McCandlish's warthog screamed up next to ours and skidded to a halt. A corpsman hopped out of the passenger seat and McCandlish himself from the driver's seat. The corpsman sprinted over to our vehicle and helped Sam remove Robin from the seat and lay him flat on the ground. The corpsman removed Robin's helmet to allow him to breathe easier. Robin's face was deathly white and blood was coming out of his mouth.

"Chris, we have a spartan down, give us some cover while we evac him!" McCandlish shouted over the COM.

"We're on it," Captain Swell responded. The ten scorpions thundered over to a closer position and resumed their duel with the wraiths, taking out another one as we spoke.

"Omega-613 this is Doc Alvaréz! We have a spartan down and in need of an immediate evac! Do you read me?!" the corpsman shouted into his COM as well as he examined Robin.

"This is Omega-613," I recognized the voice of Flight Officer Hayliger issue from the COM. The flight officer must be pretty popular, because we had been seeing him a _lot_ lately. More and more stories about him were beginning to surface; apparently he had fought on Installation 04 with the Pillar of Autumn, but he never told anyone how he had escaped. "I'm coming in hot, keep the skies clear for me!"

The corpsman, Alvaréz, produced a canister of bio-foam from his belt and inserted the nozzle into the holes in Robin's chest, injecting the healing polymer into his torso. He noticed our near-frenzied expressions and gave us a helpless look. "Not many survive _this_ long when shot twice in the chest with a beam rifle. There's a ton of internal damage, too much for bio-foam to help. He needs professional help, but even then…I don't know. It's unlikely at best. I'm so sorry…" the corpsman trailed off as Flight Officer Hayliger's pelican rounded the mountain where we had come from and came to a stop right above us, hovering down next to us. Tyrone jumped off of the Gauss cannon position on the rear of our warthog and helped Alvaréz get Robin into the hold of the pelican. The corpsman hopped into the pelican to try to keep Robin stable while Hayliger got him to one of the ships.

"This is Omega-613, I'm outta here! Good luck, boys," Hayliger said as he departed.

Captain McCandlish shook his head wearily and leaned against his warthog. He glanced at us, giving a relieved look. "I've just received an Intel update from Major Sutherland…Sierra-117 was able to _stop_ Truth from firing the Halo rings. Commander Keyes was KIA, however."

"KIA?!" I exclaimed. Commander Keyes had been one of the leading figureheads of our entire resistance ever since New Mombasa…how could she be dead?

McCandlish nodded. "They don't know how or why, but as long as the rings have been stopped, they probably won't press for details. She did her part. Sierra-117 and the Arbiter, the leader of the Elites, have already departed for the ruins of High Charity to recover the AI who left that message on that Flood cruiser in Voi. In fact," McCandlish checked his watch, "they should be getting there about now. We have a new objective; wipe out the Flood. To do that, we are going to light that Halo ring," McCandlish gestured to the Halo ring, which was high enough in the sky that it was the size of a particularly large hoop earring.

"And just how are we going to do that?" Sam asked the captain, "You need an activation index to light a Halo ring."

"_We_ are going to fall back to our ships and get back to Earth. Sierra-117 and the Arbiter will be lighting the ring. Our part in this is over," McCandlish declared.

For the next two hours, we scoured the battlefield, executing Loyalist survivors and giving aid to our wounded. I had helped pull several wounded marines from the wreck of a troop transport warthog before the pain inflicted on my broken arm told me to stop. I decided to return to the makeshift aid station and help out the medics.

After the first hour and a half, we heard a vast, massive explosion somewhere off in the direction of September Beach…which was also where High Charity had fallen. A _massive_ explosion came from that area, this time causing the ground to quake pretty hard for several seconds. "What the hell was that?!" one of the medics exclaimed, "Did we have HAVOK nukes or something?"

We later found out that Sierra-117, the Master Chief, was able to rescue the UNSC AI in High Charity. The massive explosion was the entire planetoid-city blowing up because Sierra-117 had destroyed its reactor. I was glad that I was nowhere near that thing went it had gone up in flames. Even so, High Charity's destruction meant that Sierra-117 was now on his way to the new Halo ring to light it. We had to get out of here _now_.

As we worked, the _Wish Upon a Star_, one of the five UNSC frigates present on the Ark, crested over the mountains which formed our horizon and started to descend into the valley, making a smooth landing in front of the small building which the energy bridge started from. After a minute, the deployment platforms in its hangar bay hissed open and began to drop to the ground.

"This is Captain Chandragupta," a COM transmission came in from the grounded frigate, "All UNSC and Sangheili ground forces around the Citadel, get aboard! Make it quick; the Flood are moving on your position. I won't be able to stay much longer."

"Alright, that's our cue, let's pack everything up!" one of the medics shouted. His subordinates scurried around, collecting all of their gear and packing it into their warthog. We loaded all of the wounded personnel onto all of our warthogs except our Gauss model warthog, which we would soon need, and sent them straight into the grounded frigate.

Captain Swell and his men climbed into their scorpions and fired them up, thundering across the valley towards the frigate. The warthogs all skidded onto the deployment platforms, which rose back up into the belly of the frigate and allowed the warthogs inside to move off of the platforms before they started to drop back down. Sam, Tyrone, and I were in our Gauss warthog at the very back of the group. It took two more agonizingly long trips to load up all of Swell's scorpions plus McCandlish's warthog. Just as one of the platforms started to lower back down for us, disaster struck. Dozens of Flood dispersal pods fell out of the sky, _dozens_ of them. Most of them hit the ground around us, but several struck the _Wish Upon a Star_, penetrating it.

The frigate immediately pulled its platform back up and fired its engines, ascending rapidly into the sky to escape the Flood. The ship was compromised, and it would take all of the concentration of the crew to cleanse it. That meant that they couldn't stick around on the ground for one more lousy warthog with three spartans in it because dozens more Flood could board the ship from the ground.

"Damn it all!" Tyrone screamed to the heavens, "Why us?! Why is it _always_ us!!?"

I couldn't drive because of my arm, so Sam was the one who had taken up the wheel in Robin's absence.

"All of our ships are pulling out. We're stranded with nothing but a Gauss warthog," Tyrone systematically analyzed our situation, "That Halo in the sky is gonna fire in a matter of minutes. I'd say we have less than half an hour before ole' Master Chief reaches that Halo's control room, the way he fights. Any thoughts you guys would like to add?"

My mind was a blank at first, preoccupied with thoughts about Robin and whether or not he'd survive…then it came to me—a flash, a memory. On September Beach I had looked up and saw a Loyalist cruiser…its engines destroyed…falling through the sky…crashing way off in the distance…

I thought about it for a split-second, weighing our options. It was a long shot at best…but even a long shot was the best odds we had so far. Either we risk it on a long shot, or death was 100% certain if we were still here when that Halo ring went off.

"Hey guys?" I asked slowly, "I think I have an idea…"


	25. Chapter 24: One 'Final' Final Effort p1

Chapter Twenty-Five: One _Final_ Final Effort [Part One]

**0900 Hours, December 20, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Installation 00_The 'Ark', Near the Citadel**

**The Citadel**

**Spartan-III Alex-G004**

People are usually in awe of spartans when they see us, silenced by stories and rumors of us tearing through Covenant on the battlefield like freakin' lawnmowers, thinking that we're invincible. Well, although the notion was comforting, 'invincible' was the _last_ thing we were…this past day attested to that more than anything. We survived through our missions with insanity and a side of luck, which accurately described what we were trying to do now.

In the sky, out in space above the Ark was a Halo ring, created by the forges of the Ark to replace the destroyed Installation 04. On the Ark was an army of billions of Flood, the ones which had spread out from High Charity before the Master Chief had come knocking on the Covenant Holy City's door. Their leader, the Gravemind, had also manipulated the Ark's teleportation grid and moved what remained of itself onto the new Halo ring, attempting to rebuild itself. In minutes, that Halo ring would be activated, cleansing all life in the area and destroying the Flood. The problem was that all of our ships and those of the Separatists had pulled out to escape the Flood, leaving us stranded. If we didn't get back to the Portal leading back to Earth before the replacement Halo fired, we would be memories.

While we had been storming September Beach, the Separatist fleet had shot down one of the Loyalist cruisers, destroying its engines but not the ship itself. That cruiser had fallen through the Ark's atmosphere and crashed somewhere far away from September Beach in the opposite direction of the Citadel. Our plan _now_ was to try to reach that cruiser, steal a phantom from its hangar, and escape. As I said, it was pure insanity with a healthy side of luck.

As I watched the UNSC _Wish Upon a Star_ grow smaller and smaller until it vanished from view, Sam hit our Gauss warthog's gas, propelling us back across the valley towards the ridge at the edge of the mountains where we had come from. We reached the ridge and rounded the corner before the dozens of Flood combat forms in the area had a chance to attack. We sailed past the smoldering wrecks of the Loyalist assault tower and vehicles which Swell's tanks had taken out earlier. As we rounded the girth of the mountain and made it back to the valley between this mountain and the one adjacent to it, we heard the telltale groans and hoarse cries of Flood combat forms before we ran right into a whole swarm of the things…we reached the trees and they attacked us from all sides. Tyrone opened up on them with the Gauss cannon, vaporizing three or four at a time with each shot. He only lightened the path in front of the warthog, not bothering to fire at Flood off to the sides or rear. One of the deformed monstrosities actually managed to leap onto the driver's side of our warthog as we plowed through its comrades. It raised its whip-like extension of an arm and delivered a stinging blow to Sam before I could reach over and knock it off.

Sam's breathing became labored and I noticed blood seeping down from under her left arm where the combat form had struck her, but she shrugged me off when I tried to examine the wound. "There's gonna be a lot more where that came from…" she murmured.

We finally cleared this swarm of combat forms and continued to weave our way through the trees at full speed. It was a dangerous game we were playing; at this speed if we slammed into a tree we were done. Even if _we_ survived the crash, the warthog wouldn't, and we _needed_ the warthog to reach the crashed Loyalist battlecruiser. At the same time, speed was the cornerstone to our survival; if we didn't get to the crashed cruiser fast enough the Halo ring would fire and we would be killed by the Halo Effect, so while it was dangerous going this fast, there was no other viable alternative.

We hit another swarm of Flood combat and infection forms as we continued through the forest, heading for the foothills. The warthog's large tires crushed any infection form that got in their paths into stains while the combat forms were splattered all over the windshield. Sam swore and hit the windshield wipers, clearing away the foul gunk blocking her vision.

"Great, add getting Flood shit all over my armor to our never-ending list of setbacks today…" Tyrone growled as he unleashed the fury of the M68 once again, wiping dozens of combat forms from existence.

We ran into three more swarms of Flood in the mountainside forest before we reached the foothills, leaving Tyrone with a plasma burn to the leg and Sam with a graze on her shoulder. Sam guided the warthog through the last few hundred yards of trees until we blew past them right into the smoldering wreck of a destroyed wraith. "Holy—" Sam swore in surprise, wrenching the wheel hard to the side. As we narrowly avoided the wreck, the warthog tipped to the side until we were running only on the right-side wheels, but at the critical moment the left side dropped back to the ground as Sam straightened us out. We wove our way through the burning wrecks of Loyalist vehicles as we crossed the area where we had destroyed the AA batteries. I glanced to our left, catching a glimpse of the rocky gorge which led back to September Beach. September Beach was _not_ our destination, however, so we blew right past it.

Sam manipulated the wheel and sent us heading through the foothills in the general direction of the crashed Loyalist cruiser. I could see the wisps of dark smoke on the horizon from the downed ship, and that's what Sam aimed us towards. I heard more of the gurgling howls of approaching combat forms before they hit us; and when they _did_ hit us, they hit us _hard_.

Sam took us into another winding gorge running in the direction of the smoke in the distance. We rounded the first turn and plowed straight into a sea of combat and infection forms. They were everywhere; all around and above us. A pair of former brutes dropped down on top of the warthog, forcing Ty to temporarily abandon the Gauss cannon in favor of his M90 shotgun. My team leader blew the combat forms to pieces with two quick blasts before shouldering his shotgun and grabbing hold of the Gauss cannon once more.

Suddenly, the engine of the warthog sputtered and died, leaving us sitting helplessly in the middle of a sea of Flood.

"What the fuck just happened?!" Tyrone screamed, not bothering to watch his language anymore.

"Shit!" Sam exclaimed, trying to restart the motor, "Engine cut out! Must've gotten hit by an overcharged plasma shot!"

I whipped out my SMG and opened fire, driving back the clump of combat forms trying to board my side of the warthog. Tyrone was doing a fair job of keeping them off our tail, but the front was still vulnerable. One of the combat forms up high on top of the gorge cliffs leaped down from above while I was reloading and landed on my side of the warthog. It drew back its whip arm and struck me across my chest. I cried out at the strength and ferocity of the sudden blow. Those combat forms really packed a punch; I felt my third and fourth ribs crack and the seeping warmth of open blood-flow on my torso. I looked down and noticed that my armor had been badly dented where I had been struck, now painted crimson with my blood.

Sam delivered a crushing blow to the top of the warthog's dashboard, putting a sizeable depression in the metal, and tried the engine again. She gave a triumphant cry as it coughed to life, leveling out at a steady hum. She stomped on the gas pedal and the warthog lurched forward, accelerating back to full speed. The combat form which had struck me was thrown off our warthog as we shot forward and out of this swarm.

"Let's _not_ do that again," I grunted.

"Amen," Tyrone muttered from the back.

Our temporary relief lasted less than a minute; soon we were plowing right through yet another swarm of the Parasite. There were more above us on top of the cliff faces, so Tyrone was blasting away with his shotgun as much as the M68. "How much further, I'm running low on ammo!" Ty exclaimed as he slotted another group of shells into his M90's chamber. He fired a wide burst in front of our vehicle with the M68, clearing some of the way, but it wasn't enough to make the journey smooth.

"Hell if I know; we never fixed the exact location of that ship!" Sam shouted back, adjusting the wheel to avoid a crack in the ground, "I'm just heading for the smoke! I don't think—" she broke off with a surprised cry when a globule of plasma from a plasma rifle wiedled by an Elite combat form hit her on the left shoulder, burning through the armor down to the flesh underneath. Heavier breathing was the only indication of the pain that she gave us. Before I could check on her, a particularly large brute combat form leaped down from above and landed in front of the warthog. It loosed off a spray of glowing spikes from its spiker rifle before leaping out of the way to avoid getting splattered. The spikes punched right through the windshield and thudded into whatever lay in their path. I jerked in my seat as I felt the white-hot metal spikes burrow through my armor and embed themselves in my chest and abdomen.

I had a total of four of the glowing projectiles embedded in my front—and it was agony, don't get me wrong—but the pain didn't feel anywhere near what it should have been. It was actually semi-bearable. This wasn't the only time I noticed this—nearly two months ago during our op in the Ural Mountains, I had been hit under my arm with several needler rounds and one of them had detonated, taking out a sizeable chunk of my chest. The thing was, that had happened in the valley in Sector 54 and I hadn't even noticed it until we had made it all the way back to Vodka Outpost. A wound like that should have put me in a coma at the very least, but I had shrugged it off like it was nothing. And then two weeks later when we were fighting in Kiev, I nearly lost a leg during the charge across the Dnieper River, but I hadn't noticed the severe plasma burns until we had reached the other side of the bridge and a medic pulled me out of action.

I was beginning to think that our augmentations, which we had received two years ago when we were fourteen, had more in them than the standard drugs used on the previous generations. The now-deceased Spartan-IIIs from Alpha and Beta Companies and even the legendary Spartan-IIs had never been able to shrug off hits like that. But somehow, Gamma Company Spartan-IIIs could. Whatever the reason was, I didn't expect to find out why, nor did I really care at the moment. If that mystery-endurance was keeping me alive right now, I didn't really _care_ how we got it.

"Ace!" Sam shouted over at me in concern as she noticed my newest wounds, "You alright!?"

"Damn it, if you're gonna kill me, then _kill me _and_ stop screwing up!!_" I screamed at the brute combat form which had fired the shots, who was already passing out of sight as we rounded another corner. I swore again and rested back on the passenger seat's headrest. I started to feel a bit weary and my vision began to get hazy from blood loss.

"We need to get out of this gorge!" I faintly heard Tyrone shout.

Sam shouted something back, probably an affirmative because when we reached a break in the cliff face to our right, she turned the warthog into it and got us out of the narrow ravine. We began to bounce along the rocky surface of the foothills themselves, avoiding gorges when they popped out at us. There were still lots of swarms all over the place, but at least they couldn't ambush us from above any longer.

Just as my vision started to go black, the warthog's engine coughed and died once more. I heard Sam let out a particularly foul stream of profanity as she tried to start the engine. "Damn battery has to reboot before I can start it! Alex, cover your side! Alex?!"

I felt Tyrone lean down and whack the back of my head, but it did nothing to bring me out of my slumber. "Shit, he's going into shock! Sam, give him the adrenaline! It's in the glove compartment, get it out and stick it into—" Ty continued to talk, but I couldn't hear him anymore; his words seemed to slur together. I could barely feel Sam removing the torso section of my armor, but when she did I felt a burning sensation in my heart. All I wanted to do was sleep…but that burning wouldn't leave me alone.

The burning sensation seemed to jump from my heart to the rest of my body, jerking me awake. My eyes flew open to see the foothills racing by at a breakneck speed as Sam pressed on the gas with her foot, but she was also leaning over me, grasping something below my line of sight. I slowly looked down and saw that she was gripping a large syringe full of a red solution which was buried all the way into the left side of my chest, injecting the adrenaline inside of it straight into my heart. "Holy crap, get that thing out of me!" I yelled as soon as I saw the needle. I started to move, but Sam held me down.

"Stay still!" she snapped. I registered her words and relaxed until she emptied the contents of the adrenaline syringe into me, sliding the needle out when she was done. "Good to have you back, nearly lost you there," she said to me. I straightened up, grimacing at the severe discomfort caused by the four spikes still lodged in my chest, and put my torse armor back on. I was aching to yank the spikes out, but to do so could cause massive internal bleeding. Better to leave them in and let a surgeon remove them.

"Sam!" Tyrone shouted from the back, noticing that we were heading straight towards another gorge.

Sam returned her attention to steering the warthog just in time to wrench the e-brake the same way Robin had, spinning the warthog on a dime and swerving away from the fifty-meter drop.

The smoke on the horizon was no longer on the horizon; it was closer now. We were getting there, but were we fast enough? Right now, every single small movement, every obstruction, every delay would determine whether or not we would ever see another sunrise on Earth.

As we continued towards the nearing smoke, another thick patch of forestry came unto view, the last obstacle standing between us and the crashed ship. We plowed through one last swarm of Flood before we hit the forest. The trees here were tightly spaced—a _major_ inconvenience for anyone trying to get through on a warthog. Sam deftly manipulated the wheel, slipping the warthog between the widest available spaces, constantly changing our course as the trees came up at us. Infection forms were crawling all over some of the trees, and more than once they dropped down into our vehicle and latched onto us, trying to infect and mutate us into combat forms. We watched each other's backs and shot those infection forms off before they could take hold. The patch of forest was small, luckily for us. We cleared it in roughly ten minutes with not too much difficulty; infection forms were something we could handle.

As we emerged from the forest back into the foothills, I began to hear a series of distant explosions, far enough away to make them sound like dull popping noises. I glanced up into the sky and noticed something different about the new Halo ring. It was still where it used to be, slowly rotating and such, but I was able to see tiny flashes all the way from here as massive explosions rocked the Forerunner installation. And that could only mean one thing.

"Oh…shit…it's started…" I murmured.

"What's started?" Sam asked me, not able to afford taking her gaze away from what was in front of us long enough to discover the source of my alarm.

"The Halo ring in the sky...it's firing!"

Tyrone looked up to the sky as well, taking in the sight of the combusting Halo ring. "That ring is incomplete, so it might take a little longer to actually fire than a normal one, but we still don't any time left."

Sam pressed the engines as hard as she could, squeezing out every possible drop of power and speed. We flew over the next group of hills and caught a glimpse of the crashed Loyalist cruiser two klicks away, beyond another sea of Flood. This swarm was by far the largest we had seen so far and it was all over the Covenant ship as well, infesting it. I could only hope that they hadn't destroyed the phantoms inside the ship, or else we were finished.

A hail of pointy projectiles sailed past us. They weren't spiker or needler rounds, they were the smaller, weaker projectiles fired by Flood Ranged pure forms, insect-like creatures composed entirely of Flood biomass with a large 'mouth' filled with glowing green spikes. These spikes regenerated when the Ranged form fired them, giving it an unending arsenal. Fortunately, these weaker projectiles weren't strong enough to break through our windshield. We found that out when they clanked off of our vehicle instead of burying themselves in deep.

Among the sea of combat forms and those ranged monstrosities were hulking Tank forms, bipedal creatures at least twelve feet tall with huge, thick arms which could probably crush a warthog in one blow.

We took those Flood head-on, blowing a path right through them as we shot through the last two kilometers of foothills between us and that crashed Loyalist cruiser. The explosions coming from the distant Halo ring were beginning to intensify as the installation grew closer and closer to firing. I had no doubt that the Master Chief was probably trying to get to his ship just like us.

Sam edged the wheel to the left a tad so that we ran right over the cluster of ranged forms which had been giving us grief, splattering them all. I noted that the ranged forms, along with any other Pure Flood form that we killed, didn't get back up after being taken down.

The waves of combat forms unloaded their weapons on us, but the Flood's forte wasn't aiming and accuracy; most of the weaponsfire went wide, but some of it did hit us. A spray from an SMG-wielding human combat form hit Ty and Sam from our left side, peppering Sam's side and Tyrone's leg. Sam's armor held, but several of the bullets penetrated Tyrone's. Our team let out a pained grunt, leaning heavily on the Gauss cannon to avoid falling off the vehicle. He pulled himself upright in time to shout "Tank!"

Sam gripped the wheel and wrenched it over to the side, turning us _towards_ the hulking tank form. The tank form gave out what seemed to be a surprised growl as we crashed into it. The bumper and hood of the warthog was slightly crumpled, but the Tank form was killed instantly, flung to the side, crushing several combat forms as it hit the ground.

We kept up our run, all of us suffering several more minor wounds in the process. It was to be expected; when you're surrounded by tens of thousands of weapons, all of them firing at the same time, you're bound to get hit sooner or later. Still, the sheer logic of the whole thing didn't deprive me of my right to complain and swear.

"Head for the hangar!" Ty shouted to Sam, gesturing towards a spot on the nearby crashed cruiser. I saw what he was talking about; the Loyalist cruiser's docking ports were open, presenting us with quick, direct access to the cruiser's hangar bay. Luckily, the side of the cruiser which we were gunning for was tilted towards the ground. Had it been the other way around, we would have had to circumvent the entire length of the cruiser to gain entry, and that would have cost us a too much time.

We finally broke through the bulk of the attacking combat forms, our last obstacle being a group of four tank forms lined up in front of the open docking port, waiting for us.

"Smile for Mr. Gauss cannon, shit-heads!" Tyrone roared as he aimed the M68 straight at the pure forms. He loosed off a shot and took out one of the tank forms as we neared the open docking port. He fired again, one more dead tank form. He took aim at the third tank form, but just as he fired, it dodged, eluding the mini-MAC round. Tyrone fired again, but was met with similar results. He fired at the tank form a third time and managed to clip one of its arms, finishing it off with a fourth shot as it paused to register the hit. Unfortunately, he Tyrone didn't have enough time to take aim at the fourth tank form, because at that point we had already reached the docking port.

The fourth tank form drew back one of its powerful arms, leaped to the side to avoid getting ran over, and brought it crashing down on the front of our warthog. The extremely powerful blow caved in the entire front of the warthog, causing it to swerve and crash into the side of the Loyalist cruiser right next to the docking port. All I remember was the sound of screeching, twisting metal before darkness claimed me.


	26. Chapter 25: One 'Final' Final Effort p2

Chapter Twenty-Five: One _Final_ Final Effort [Part Two]

**0930 Hours, December 20, 2552 (Military Calendar) \  
Installation 00_The 'Ark', Near September Beach**

**Crashed Loyalist CCS-Class Battlecruiser**

**Spartan-III Alex-G004**

I felt the pain even before I came to. I heard Sam and Tyrone's voice swimming into my dark mental room, calling me to come out and wake up…shaking me…_Leave me alone_...

More shouting and urgent shaking; they just wouldn't let me rest…_Fine_…I cracked open my eyelids, only to see blurry streaks of color and movement. My eyes had teared up, obscuring everything I saw. My body was nothing but a human-shaped vessel of pain; when the warthog had swerved and hit the side of the ship, the passenger seat had borne the brunt of the impact, as had I, its occupant.

I could barely feel my legs, my already injured left arm was throbbing up a storm along with my right one, and my torso…I don't even have to explain it.

I reached up to my face to wipe the tears from my eyes, but my hands were stopped by the smooth surface of my ODST helmet's reflective blue faceplate, reminding me that I was wearing a helmet. I blinked hard several times to clear away the excessive tears, allowing me to see again. I lifted my head with a groan and took in my surrounding. The tank form which had taken us down was lying dead several meters away, around a dozen shotgun shells from Tyrone's M90 lodged in its head. Our faithful Gauss warthog which had brought us this far was now nothing more than a twisted lump of burning metal crushed up against the armor of the cruiser. I had obviously been thrown from my seat during the impact; had this not been so then I wouldn't have woken up at all. My teammates must have also dragged me some distance away from the wreckage, because I was lying on the wrong side of the warthog, in front of the open docking port.

Sam was kneeling over me, examining my newly acquired injuries. Her voice was grim and sympathetic when she spoke. "He took most of the impact, Ty. No spinal damage from what I can tell, we have that much to be thankful for. He's got a big concussion from the trauma of the impact…for his chest it's not a question of how many ribs are cracked, it's a question of how many, _if_ any, _aren't_ cracked. His left arm is shattered and there are at least two compound fractures on his right arm…" she prodded my legs, prompting a violent spasm of pain from both of the lower limbs which I couldn't completely repress, "And his legs are basically maracas."

"Can we move him?" Tyrone asked.

"Do we have a choice?" Sam countered. No one could argue with that. Sam bent over and picked up my prized sniper rifle, slinging it over her back before turning back to me.

Hearing the howls of the rapidly approaching swarm of Flood which we had blown past, Ty shook his head. "No, we don't. Alex, we're gonna pick you up and move you, now. It's gonna hurt like Hell and nearly every other method of pain you can think of combined, but it's the only way."

"Gee, don't you just have the bedside manner of a teddy-bear," I grumbled bitterly as my two teammates grasped me under both of my arms and stood me up. They threw my arms around their necks and supported me like a hospital patient. They tried to be gentle, but time was not on our side, so gentleness didn't really exist. My body was screaming at me the entire time, each sudden jerk or movement bring a fresh wave of pain to different parts of me.

"Man, you have to be the _unluckiest_ lucky sonofabitch I've ever met…" Tyrone grunted as he and Sam made their way through the hangar bay. All around us were groups of infection forms which Sam and Tyrone took out when they got too close. All around us were smoldering wrecks of phantoms and seraph fighters which had been destroyed in the impact, but as we slowly fought our way through to the center of the hangar, we found a relatively intact phantom dropship. The bluish purple Covenant craft had lots of burns, dents, and scoring all over its hull, but compared to most of the other vehicles in this dump, it was a first-class ticket home. I got a glimpse of the name of the dropship, the _Journey to Salvation_. I smirked at how appropriate the ship's name was; it was about to take us on exactly what it was named for, though it would be more of a freakin' odyssey than a journey with all the crap we had gone through since leaving the Citadel.

"Sam, get in there and get it started; we can't haul Alex inside through the side openings unless we _really_ have to. We'll come in through the grav lift in the ship's belly," Tyrone said once we reached our phantom.

"Uh…okay…" Sam replied, gingerly removing my arm from around her neck, leaving me leaning fully on Tyrone for support. She leaped up and grabbed hold of the edge of the side deployment opening in the phantom dropship, pulling herself up and slipping inside the Covenant craft.

The gurgling howls and roars of the Flood echoed off the walls as the swarm entered the Hangar, hot on our heels. A minute passed, then another. The swarm was now close enough to fire at Tyrone and me, but I was unable to walk on my own, let alone fire a weapon. My head began to buzz and my ears started to ring slightly, but I shook my head to stay awake. Sam had said that I had a severe concussion from the crash; falling asleep could prove to be fatal. I still felt the adrenaline in my system, and that helped a lot, but it was still difficult to remain focused.

Tyrone unslung his M90 and brandished it with his free arm, daring the combat forms to come closer. Whenever a Flood form came within a five-foot radius of us, he blew the infection form lodged in its chest into next year, causing the rest of the body to collapse, useless until another infection form took the previous one's place. When he was out of ammo, he gave me the shotgun to reload and opened up with his magnum sidearm until I finished reloading. This cycle repeated until both Ty's shotgun and magnum finally ran dry, now about as useful as feathers. As the semi-circle of combat forms started to close in on us, sensing that we were out of juice, I heard a hum behind us as the phantom dropship powered up and rose about thirty feet into the air as its thrusters activated. Its main plasma turret emerged from its underside and opened fire on the swarm of combat forms, dissolving the ones nearest to us, effectively saving our skins. It wouldn't be able to kill _all_ of them, but it would be enough to buy us enough time to board the ship.

The _Journey to Salvation_ moved directly above us and descended to twenty feet. As I glanced up at the belly of the phantom, the large round black hole in the center which the Covenant troops would use for deployment and boarding lit up with a brilliant indigo beam of light which reached all the way down to us. It was the phantom's gravity beam, which is how troops would quickly board the phantom in battle, and it proved to be the best way of getting _me_ aboard in my severely wounded state. Hauling me up and through one of the side openings probably could have killed me or caused spinal damage.

As the indigo light washed over us, I felt a feeling of weightlessness as Tyrone and I rose up through the air along the gravity lift, up through the large hole in the phantom's underside, and into the ship's main hold, which was comparable to the hold of a pelican. It was a big enough room to fit several vehicles or over twenty troops. The internal structure had the same basic shape of the outside of the phantom, but there was a doorway in the back which led to a small engine room and another portal in the front which led to the cockpit. I could see Sam sitting at the controls. The sides of the hold were dominated by two large openings which troops would use to jump out of and onto the ground in combat. Those openings could be closed when in zero-atmosphere environments.

Several combat forms had managed to make it into the gravity beam as well and were rising up towards the hold after us. The first combat form actually made it inside, but Tyrone took it down with his bare hands when it reached us. The brilliant indigo light of the gravity lift faded as Sam deactivated it, sending the rest of the combat forms splattering to the floor of the hangar bay. Tyrone rolled the remains of the combat form he had just killed out one of the openings in the sides of the hold and got rid of it, sending it crashing down on top of its howling comrades. The swarm had congregated below us, leaping on top of each other and into thin air in a vain effort to reach us. Sam had ceased firing the plasma turret now that we were safely aboard and focused on getting us out of here.

As the phantom's thrusters engaged, we began to steadily move forward and up. Because of the slight tilt of the cruiser, its other side was angled up towards the sky, prompting Sam to keep moving us up to avoid getting too close to the floor of the hangar bay. We avoided the Flood on the floor until we reached the open deployment port. Sam was forced to descend close to the ground to fit through, and a handful of lucky combat forms and a tank form managed to leap on top of the dropship during that time. We moved forward, clearing the crashed cruiser and soaring out into the open air.

Tyrone gently sat me down on one of the seats next to the starboard deployment opening in the hold. "I'll be right back…" he grumbled, cracking his knuckles and neck. He walked over to the opening and jumped up to the ceiling, grabbing hold of the top edge of the deployment side opening and hauling himself up on top of our phantom. I heard several labored grunts and a good amount of crushing blows, then silence. As I watched, a cascade of seven dead combat forms and the tank form fell off the top of our ship and past the deployment opening down to the ground below, all of them pummeled to death by my team leader. Tyrone climbed back down the side of the phantom and swung back inside the hold. He exhaled as if he had just finished a work-out.

Now that we were in the open, Sam hit the phantom's main engines and we really started to move. The ground dropped away pretty fast as we climbed through the air, which got colder as we got higher.

"Better close the hatches…" Sam murmured, searching around the controls for the appropriate one. She finally found it and hit it. A whirring noise was heard as armor plating slid into place, sealing the deployment hole in the floor of the hold and both of the side openings. We were now completely airtight. A different whirring sound, this one much softer and not nearly as noticeable, signaled the activation of the air recycler, designed so that the ship's crew wouldn't suffocate after long periods of time.

I tried to get up to move into the cockpit, but the strain on my mangled limbs and torso was too much. Tyrone picked me up again and moved me to the cockpit himself. He examined the co-pilot's seat briefly before finding a way to force it to recline all the way back so that it was more of a flat surface. He lay me down on top of the flat seat and secured me with the safety belt so that I wouldn't move as much. For the next few minutes, he sat by me and kept me awake; with my concussion unconsciousness wasn't an option until I saw a medic. The blood loss was starting to get to me as well; I was starting to cough it up now, which really didn't seem like a good sign. Coughing up blood meant internal bleeding. For one of the first times since the destruction of my homeworld when I was little and before I was recruited into the Spartan-III project, I was truly afraid that I was going to die.

I still had a good view though the cockpit window which was basically the windshield of the phantom, the large window that the pilots utilized to see where they were going. As we kept up our ascent, the clouds fell away and the blue sky gradually gave way to darker and darker blue, and then finally the pure, starless, black of deep space. I could see two of the Ark's arms far off in the distance as well as the rapidly combusting Halo ring far above us. We turned towards one of the outreaching spokes of the Ark, the one which we had emerged over with the Separatist fleet twelve hours ago. The slipspace portal leading back to Earth was hovering well above that arm, right where we had emerged from. _Twelve hours_...it felt like days, not hours since we had come here…

I watched Sam pilot the phantom, hitting the engine as hard as she could, sending us on our way towards safety. "Now when did _you_ learn how to drive a phantom?" I asked her wryly.

"Oh, about five minutes ago," Sam chuckled. She seemed relaxed, now. I guess it made sense; at this point there was nothing more we could do to help or hurt our fate. Either the phantom was fast enough to reach the Portal before the Halo fired, or it wasn't. There was nothing we could do to change anything at this point.

We couldn't hear the sounds of the firing Halo anymore, on account of the fact that sound can't travel through space, but we could tell that it was getting pretty violent. The explosions were really shaking the Halo, sending out bits of debris into space and the Ark's atmosphere.

"It's shaking itself apart…" Tyrone murmured.

A sort of energy was beginning to gather at the two edges of the Halo ring, an orange aura, like flames. Whatever it was, it definitely had something to do with the Halo ring lighting. We were _out_ of time.

"Come on…" Sam hissed, eyeing the Halo nervously, but also gazing at the Portal we were heading towards with a ferocious tunnel vision. It drew nearer and nearer until it suddenly stopped. Our phantom shook slightly, and I heard a powering-down noise in the engine room in the back.

"Jesus H. Christ, don't you _dare_ tell me the engines broke down!" Tyrone growled with frustration.

Sam hesitated, searching for an appropriate synonym to describe the situation. "Uh…the engines just _cut out_. Not the same thing, different words…" she sprang up out of her seat and strode out of the cockpit, heading into the engine room at the back of the ship. I heard several expletives coming from that room before Sam showed her face again. "It must have been damaged when the Loyalist cruiser crashed; there's scoring and broken systems all over the place. We were extremely lucky to get off the ground, let alone _this_ far…"

Tyrone let out another frustrated growl and punched the wall, putting a sizeable dent in the armor plating. "Now we're _all_ the unluckiest lucky sonsofbitches I've ever known…Can we fix it?"

Sam shook her head, "No the damage is too extensive. All we have are the maneuvering thrusters. It's not much, but it's something."

"It's not enough," I sighed, calculating the distance between us and the Portal, and the Halo's firing, "We'll barely make it a quarter of the way on just thrusters at the rate that Halo's firing."

As we continued to debate ways on how to improve this impossible situation, the phantom's battle network system, the Covenant equivalent to our COM, squawked to life. It must have been set on a universal setting, because the transmissions we were hearing were from UNSC COM units.

"Sam, get back here!" Tyrone exclaimed, hearing the transmissions too, "Isolate that signal."

Sam sat back down in the pilot's seat and manipulated the battle network's controls until we could clearly hear the voices conversing over the COM. My heart leapt as I realized the gravity of this discovery; UNSC transmissions this far up in space meant only one important thing; a _ship_. More specifically, a ship with functioning engines.

"How do you use this thing?" Ty asked Sam, gesturing to the battle network system. Sam pressed several more controls and nodded to our team leader, prompting him to speak. "Any UNSC forces in the area, this is Team Rapier! Our engines are shot to hell and we are in need of immediate assistance! Any UNSC forces in the area, please respond, over!"

There was a few seconds of silence before an older voice addressed us. "This is Commander Brown of the _Lady Fortune_; we're coming up on your tail. We're opening our port-side lateral airlock, you have permission to dock."

"You're a godsend, Commander," Tyrone responded, killing the channel.

Another few seconds passed before the light coming into our phantom's cockpit was obscured by a large moving shadow. I struggled to sit up a tiny fraction, ignoring my ribcage's protests, until I was able to see the mighty silhouette of a marathon class cruiser coming up on our right side. It must have been a late arrival, as it hadn't gone through the Portal with the Separatist Fleet. The only two marathon-class cruisers present had been the _Breath of Winter_ and the _Burning Ember_, this particular cruiser must have slipped through the Portal sometime after my team had gone to ground to storm September Beach.

"A _Commander_ in charge of a marathon-class cruiser?" Sam observed after the channel closed, "Either we're running out of Captains or that guy's freakishly good."

As we slid into the _Lady Fortune's_ docking port, the last sight of Halo I saw was the energy at the rim of the ring, which was gathered in the center of the ring, reaching a critical mass and exploding, ballooning outwards away from the installation in a huge, crackling purple wave. I instinctively knew that we did _not_ want to be here when that wave hit.

Sam maneuvered the _Journey to Salvation_ into the _Lady Fortune's_ hangar bay and set the phantom down gently between a group of pelicans and scorpions. I could feel the marathon-class cruiser's hull shake as she fired up her engines once more, gunning for the Portal. I heard the familiar rushing noise of a slipspace transfer, then nothing.

I knew we had reached the Portal. Against all odds, we had reached it. I could scarcely believe it. My teammates and I had unbreakable willpower when it came to our determination to escape back to Earth, but deep down none of us had actually expected to make it. I felt the adrenaline rush coursing through my body fade away, now unneeded. There were no more Flood to fight through, no more wounds to shrug off. My eyelids felt like lead weights which even augmented muscles couldn't hold up, and they shut. I heard exclamations from my teammates, but I ignored them. It was time to rest.

We had made it. We were safe.


	27. Chapter 26: A New Beginning

Chapter Twenty-Six: A New Beginning

**1900 Hours, March 3, 2553 (Military Calendar) \ (Two Months Later)  
Earth, Sol System**

**Hillside Memorial Ceremony, Ruins of Voi**

**Spartan-III Alex-G004**

The doctors of the UNSC hospital in the outskirts of Sydney, Australia near the UNSC High Command Headquarters had nicknamed me 'Lazarus' when I had been brought there nearly two months ago.

From what they told me, the medics had said that I had fallen into a coma on the UNSC _Lady Fortune_ after we escaped from the Ark and entered the Portal. The medics on that ship had to fight tooth and nail for over three hours with what they had to keep me alive until we emerged in orbit over Earth. The medics had taken me onto a pelican and rushed me to the nearest UNSC Military Hospital in Sydney. The doctors there told me that I had been clinically dead when I arrived, but they managed to get my vitals back to sub-normal during surgery. Their nickname for me was based on Lazarus, a biblical character who was brought back from the dead; quite appropriate in my case.

They put me back together under the knife as best they could, fixing the worst wounds but leaving the rest to heal naturally. After all, with spartans you never knew when fixing something might end up permanently disabling the patient. The doctors knew this all too well.

I had arrived at that hospital two months ago and I had been kept there ever since. I remained in the coma for the first two weeks and was kept in isolation for _another_ two weeks to ensure that I didn't come down with an infection. My skeleton was mostly healed by the second month and I was able to move around on my own.

Dr. Billings, the Australian surgeon who had operated on me, stuck with me all through that second month, helping me from painfully hobbling and limping around the room to jogging around the hospital courtyard. By the time March rolled in, I felt great. Kind of stiff, but compared to what I went through on the Ark I felt great.

Fleet Admiral Hood was holding a memorial tribute ceremony in Kenya in the ruins of the town of Voi, near where the Portal had been, to commemorate those who died during the 28-year-long Human-Covenant War. Dr. Billings had seen fit to give me a clean bill of health so that I could join my teammates there. He bid me farewell and put me on a pelican heading straight to Voi.

I had been on this pelican for two hours now, watching the unbroken blue sky fly past the portholes. I was dressed in casual clothes: camo-pattern pants and a black T-shirt, feeling strangely exposed without my ODST armor. I felt almost giddy with anticipation at the prospect of reuniting with my friends and comrades at the tribute; after all, I hadn't seen them since the Ark two whole months ago.

"Hey, kid!" the pilot called back to me when I woke up from my nap, "You can sit up here in the co-pilot's chair if you want."

_Sure, why not?_ I stood up and made my way into the cockpit, taking a seat in the co-pilot's chair which was situated behind and to the left of the pilot's.

"Not to pry or anything, but you're one of those kid spartans I've heard stories about, aren't you?" the pilot asked me, "I mean, that's the only logical explanation I could think of when I found out that a sixteen-year-old was being treated in the military hospital with wounds that would've killed most grown men."

I considered not telling him the truth, but then I remembered that the war was _over_. At this point, ONI could go jump in a lake for all I cared. "Yeah, you got the gist of it."

"Coming into Voi airspace…initiating landing procedures…" the pilot murmured before turning his attention back to me, "You're one of the ones who went through the Portal, aren't you? Everyone on the planet heard about it. Over two thousand men and women went into that Portal, and twelve hours later not much more than a thousand returned. You guys must have gone through some really heavy stuff."

"Yeah…" I trailed off, not in the mood to talk about the battle. I craned my neck to get a better look through the front window. We were landing nearby a tall hill just outside of the area which had been glassed by the Separatists to destroy the Flood which had infected the area. I could clearly see the place where the Portal had been from here, now just an empty crater. The _Shadow of Intent_ was holding position several kilometers in the air above the crater along with several UNSC frigates.

The pilot took us down some distance away from the hill and landed, allowing me to get off before he said goodbye and took his pelican away to a proper spot. I made my way through the groups of marines and naval personnel congregating at the base of the hill. A small platform had been erected on the hilltop with a set of stairs leading onto it, and rising up from behind the platform was a polished wing from a pelican dropship planted in the ground so that its angular tip rose into the sky. Covering the one side of the wing and laid out on the platform were dozens and dozens of small photographs and pictures of marines and naval personnel who had gone with us through the Portal, but never made it back. Several BR55 battle rifles were propped up against the memorial with marine helmets and hats placed on their upright barrels. Bunches of flowers had been placed there as well, adding to the tribute to the fallen. At the top of the memorial wing, the UNSC symbol was engraved in the metal. Below it was an inscription which said _In Memory of Those Fallen in the Defense of Earth and Her Colonies. –March 3, 2553_.

The marines, naval personnel, and officers I made my way through all gave me respectful nods as I passed through them. I returned the gestures, but I said nothing. Finally, as I neared the hillside, I caught sight of Tyrone and Sam, my oldest friends and my brothers in arms. I let out an ecstatic shout and sprinted over to them. Tyrone intercepted me with a crushing bear hug, nearly finishing what the Flood had started. "Well if it isn't the little goldbricker, finally out of your comfy hospital bed to join us mere mortals on the ground!"

"Up yours, Ty, you're not my commander anymore!" I laughed with him. It was then that I noticed an absence, so I asked Ty about it, already knowing the answer but not wanting to hear it. "Where's Robin at?"

Tyrone's expression grew solemn and he shook his head. "He didn't make it. We learned a few days after we got back to Earth, but you were sound asleep in that coma of yours."

I let out a heavy sigh at the knowledge of my close friend's death. Robin had always been there for us, lightening our spirits when they were too heavy. I would feel the loss until I died. Next came Sam; our embrace was more warm and emotional rather than crushing and painful.

"I missed you, Ace," Sam smiled, wiping a tear from her eye.

"Samantha-G113, it'll take more than a little inconvenience called 'death' to keep me from collecting that kiss you promised me before. The war _is_ over now," I chided her, smiling when I saw the recollection register on her face.

"I guess you're right," she chuckled in reply, "Come here." I leaned in close and our lips met.

After a full minute, everyone became quiet. Tyrone nudged both of us, whispering, "If you two drunken love-monkeys are finished drinking each other's saliva, the memorial is about to start."

As dusk fell over the countryside and the sun started it's descent below the western horizon and behind the memorial, bathing the hillside in a rich golden-orange light, Fleet Admiral Terrence Hood himself strode up the hill and climbed the small set of stairs onto the platform, stopping in front of the memorial. He gazed at it for a while, taking in each and every one of the pictures clustered at the bottom before turning around and facing the large crowd assembled below him.

Everyone fell silent when he started to speak. The older man raised his head, respectfully removing his hat, and began his speech. "For us, the storm has passed... the war is over. But let us never forget those who journeyed into the howling dark and did not return," he gestured to the photographs, pausing briefly before continuing, "For their decision required courage beyond measure; sacrifice, and unshakable conviction that their fight... our fight, was elsewhere. As we start to rebuild, this hillside will remain barren, a memorial to heroes fallen. They ennobled all of us, and they shall not be forgotten," he finished. He gazed straight ahead and put his admiral's hat back on, raising his right hand to his forehead in a salute and giving a final nod to Gunnery Sergeant Stacker, who was in charge of directing the ceremony.

The bearded sergeant nodded back to the Fleet Admiral and formally marched over to the head of the line of seven BR55-wielding marines who were standing off to the side of the hilltop. "Pre-sent arms!" Stacker barked. I clicked my heels together and snapped to attention, saluting along with every other person in the crowd.

The seven marines straightened up as well and brought their battle rifles to bear. They pivoted to the right and aimed their battle rifles up at a 45 degree angle into the sky across the memorial. They all fired off a single shot in unison. They paused for a second before firing again. After the third volley, the twenty-one gun salute was complete.

Fleet Admiral Hood dropped his salute, as did the rest of us, and relaxed, turning back towards the monument. The marines and naval personnel in the crowd began to mill around, chatting amongst themselves. Sam, Tyrone, and I climbed the stairs up onto the platform along with several other marines to get a good look at the memorial.

I gazed at the inscription under the UNSC insignia commemorating the fallen men and women of the human race. I felt a pang of sorrow for all of the people I had known who had died; Lt. Commander Ambrose, Robin, Em…most of the spartans of Gamma Company didn't survive the Second Battle of Earth. Of sixty-six original five-spartan teams, Team Rapier was among only ten teams who survived, and none of those teams still had all five members left. There were fewer than forty spartans out of the original 330 left alive, but we had fulfilled our purpose and duty. Master Chief, John-117, the last remaining Spartan-II, had been declared MIA during the Battle of the Ark. The Arbiter had been on board the _Forward Unto Dawn_ with him after they lit the replacement Halo ring, but only half of the UNSC frigate made it back through the Portal. The half the Chief was in had been lost.

I felt another pang of sorrow for this man who had fought and sacrificed _everything_ for his race ever since the very beginning of this war, only to be presumed dead right at the end and unable to return home. _It's not fair_…

This memorial was dedicated to him above everyone else, I felt. I knelt down and picked up a combat knife which was lying among the flowers and photographs and stood back up, looking back at the inscription below the UNSC insignia. I held the knife firmly and pressed its point to the metal of the pelican wing monument. I drew the knife down and etched the number '117' into the metal right below and to the right of the inscription, in honor of the fellow Spartan.

"Things are different without the Covenant shooting at us anymore…it feels different knowing that we actually have a future," Tyrone mused.

"What will we do now?" I wondered aloud to my friends, "We were created for the war, fighting and killing was our purpose in life. Now that the war is over, what do we do?"

Tyrone grunted. "Well I, for one, always wanted to see the beaches in Florida; from what I hear it's a kick-ass place. Maybe I'll settle down there…open up a shop or something…start a family…who knows?" I noticed that Sam was giving him a look as he finished speaking. Tyrone picked up on it as well and he cocked an eyebrow. "You haven't told him yet? Aight, I'll give you two some privacy. See you in a few." With that, Tyrone walked off, mingling with a group of laughing marines and trading stories.

Sam slipped her hand into mine and led me off to a quiet place on the other side of the hill, away from everyone else. "Ace…Alex…" she started to talk to me calmly, choosing her words, "You remember that one night four months ago during our op in the Ural Mountains when we had returned from the skirmish in Sector 54? You know, when we—"

"How could I _forget_ that night?" I chuckled, "Nothing like ripping every PDA regulation to shreds every once in a while."

Sam locked eyes with me and grasped my wrist. She said nothing she lifted up her shirt and placed my wrist on her stomach, which I noticed was protruding slightly. Before I could ask her what she was doing, I felt something that nearly made me shout in surprise and shock; I felt a light kick from within.

"You—you're—there's—" I stammered, the words jamming up in my mouth before I could say them.

"I found out after we stormed September Beach, that medic from the ODST Spec. Ops squad we met in New Mombasa confirmed it. I would have told you once we made it out through the Portal _alive_, but then you fell unconscious and…well…the rest is history," she shrugged helplessly, "I'm not sorry for not telling anyone during the battle," she explained, "There are some things that are best left unsaid until the right time. You know that."

I nodded in agreement, finding my voice again. "No, I'm not mad…just startled…now I _really_ have to ask the question…What do we do now?"

"We find a nice place to live, let the military pension cover the rest. We make a new beginning for ourselves," she answered matter-of-factly.

I was silent for a while, watching the sunlight in the west fade until the only light was a faint red glow, digesting this new revelation. A future with Sam was what I had always wanted, but now that it was happening like this…no, _this_ was not bad. _Having a kid is a blessing, not a curse_, I thought to myself. Maybe my plans were happening a little sooner than I had expected, but this was life. You never knew what it was going to hurl at you. After everything we had gone through during the war, life throwing something like _this_ at Sam and I was a gift.

I looked back at Sam, breaking my silent, thoughtful mood. "Pregnant, huh?" I tossed the query to her.

"That's right," she nodded, drawing me close.

"Well, that kid's gonna have one hell of a childhood…raised by two spartans…" I chuckled as we kissed once more while the remaining sunlight vanished, plunging the area into the darkness of the night.

We moved apart, remaining quiet for another minute before holding hands and starting to stroll back towards the rest of the crowd, ready for whatever was going to come next. For the first time in my life, the future didn't seem so bad anymore.


	28. Epilogue

Epilogue

**1515 Hours, June 13, 2564 (Military Calendar) \ (Eleven Years Later)  
Earth, Sol System**

**Riverside, New York**

The visitor in the casual tweed jacket continued to scribble furiously into his notebook, recounting the key points and details of his host's stories. He had a pale complexion and an aura of curiosity and determination about him, key traits in almost _any_ freelance journalist. He was in his late thirties, but his salt and pepper hair was already starting to thin. He wore a small pair of reading spectacles on the bridge of his nose and frequently cleaned them with a handkerchief kept in his breast pocket.

Ever since the journalist had come to this small family-style house in the small suburban town of Riverside, New York, he had heard some of the most fascinating stories from the decade-old Human-Covenant War. Soon, once he got his documentary-book written, he would be the envy of his co-workers. He still felt uneasy and even a little guilty at _how_ he had managed to get here this easily, and for the wire in his ear, but he pushed those thoughts to the dark corners in the back of his mind and focused on the present.

"Well, Mr. Ambrose, you've certainly had some…interesting experiences from this war. I could fill up _encyclopedias_ with what you've told me, let alone a documentary book," the journalist said as he finished transcribing the last few items.

The man he was talking to, the supplier of his information and the one who lived in the house, smiled lightly. "Interesting is one way to put it," he mused. The man was still young, in his late twenties. The journalist put him at twenty-seven years old, based on his age at the end of the war eleven years ago. He was of medium height and build, short brown hair, freckles splayed across his face, piercing electric-blue eyes. He seemed at ease and harmless, but the journalist knew that this man could kill him a dozen different ways before he had a chance to scream.

"Can you describe the augmentation process?" the journalist asked the other man, "I've heard that it was…painful…but I've never been able to get an account from an actual Spartan before. If information isn't first-hand, then it's tainted, you know?"

"Well, Mr. Collins," the other man, Ambrose, settled into his chair and opened up a bottle of root beer, recalling the painful memories of what made him into a super-soldier, "In this case, that information _wasn't_ tainted; the augmentation process was horrible. What your friends and contacts _can't_ tell you about, however, are the details. There were several drugs that they put into our bodies which altered us at a genetic level; there were four total. They would greatly enhance our skeletal structure, muscle density and strength, vision, and the last one did some crazy thing with our brains and ended up decreasing our reaction time."

"But how did the actual process _feel?_"

"It felt like glass breaking inside the marrow of every bone in my body. My eyes were bleeding for three days from the retinal enhancements. Because of the reduced reaction time and the retinal enhancement, I ended up tripping over myself and walking into walls until I could get used to it. As for the minute details of how painful it was…I don't think you really want to know."

"That's fine…" the journalist murmured, scribbling down the last few words, "I think what you just said should do nicely."

Ambrose chuckled quietly and took another sip from his open bottle of root beer. "So why are you so interested in us Spartans? Looking for a boost in your salary?"

"No," Collins, the journalist, chuckled, "Although that _would_ be quite a perk I wouldn't say no to. No, I was a combat correspondent during the war; I would observe battles and report back to the media…well it didn't really matter _what_ I said…ONI always ended up neutering my stories…" the journalist shrugged, accepting his past, "I suppose it was for the best. Wouldn't have been the best thing to have people know that we were losing worlds by the dozens. But now, I've always wanted to document the things in the war that most people didn't know about. I want to bring them into the light so that they can be acknowledged as well, not forgotten."

"And your documentary-book is the first of several, then?" Ambrose cocked an eyebrow.

"We'll see," Collins finished writing in his notebook, "I have one last question for you, off the record."

"Shoot."

"Spartans have no last names, so 'Ambrose' really isn't yours. I'm curious…what made you choose a name like that? Someone you knew?"

"Lieutenant Commander Ambrose was the man who trained me and the rest of my company before and after we were augmented," Ambrose explained, "He made us what we are now and is responsible for us surviving as long as we did. He…died on Onyx…so I took his name. What better way to honor his memory, eh?"

The journalist nodded thoughtfully and started to gather his things together, but just as he started to stand up, he heard the front door of the house open, accompanied by the sound of scuffling feet.

"Honey, we're home!" a young woman's voice called out from the front hall.

Ambrose glanced down at his watch. "Took you long enough!"

"It was Robin's last day, I took him out for ice cream," the woman said as she walked into the room. Mr. Collins took a good look at her; she was taller than her husband and had slightly longer than shoulder-length red hair. She had a kind face, but the journalist knew that she, too, was just as dangerous as her husband if provoked. Maybe even more so.

The journalist offered a kind hello and extended a hand, "You must be Mrs. Ambrose, then? Hi, I'm Bill Collins—"

"_Mrs. Ambrose_…God, no one calls me that these days," the woman returned the handshake, "Call me Sam."

The journalist started to sweat under his collar; those mysterious men who had sent him here had been interested in the child. After all, Collins had been stalling long enough for the rest of Ambrose's family to get home. The journalist quickly calmed himself down; no need for the Ambroses to catch wind of his nervous ticks. He took a deep breath. _Time for a harmless question…_

"You said the augmentations affected you at a genetic level…tell me; would your…attributes pass down to offspring?" Collins asked innocently, waiting for the answer. As Mr. Ambrose opened his mouth to speak, Collins started to sweat again. This was the moment of truth.

However right before Ambrose could say anything, a small, eleven-year-old boy, obviously Ambrose's son, walked into the room with a school backpack in tow, dropping his things onto the sofa. Collins kept a close eye on him. As the boy put his backpack down, a spherical pencil sharpener dropped out of one of the backpack's pockets and rolled into a corner under the sofa. The boy let out a sigh, but he gripped the sofa with his left hand and, without and effort at all on his part, lifted it up high into the air so he could grab the runaway pencil sharpener with his free hand. He put the sofa back down gently.

"I think that answers your question, Mr. Collins," Ambrose chuckled, giving the journalist a half-smile.

Collins nodded thoughtfully..._fascinating..._He slipped his pencil into his breast pocket and his notebook into his shoulder-bag, "Well this was quite an eventful afternoon, Mr. Ambrose, we'll have to chat again sometime."

"Please," Ambrose shook Collins's hand as the journalist stepped up to the door to leave, "Call me Alex. I hope the book turns out well."

"Robin, say good-bye to Mr. Collins!" Sam hollered over to her son, who was busy sitting on the sofa starting up his gaming console.

"See ya Mr. Book-Dude!"

"Well, good enough…" Sam shrugged.

"That's quite alright," Collins laughed, taking his fedora from the hat-stand and placing on his head, "Pleasure chatting with you. Have a nice day!"

Alex and Sam Ambrose stood next to each other in the doorway, watching the journalist leave. "Well, he seemed nice," Alex mused.

"I guess…I never trust people like him though; they've always got ulterior motives that we just don't know about…" Sam sounded less optimistic.

"You're too paranoid," Alex chided his wife as they closed the door and turned back into the house, "The war ended a _decade_ ago, remember?"

Meanwhile, Mr. Collins set off down the driveway at a brisk pace, his previous laughter and smile all gone. He had taken the bus here, so he had a two-mile walk to reach the station. He didn't mind the walk; he enjoyed taking a stroll outside. After being faced with annihilation, one tends to more appreciate the small things of nature. After all, it's impossible to take a nice walk on a glassed wasteland.

Collins continued down _Sutton Street_ until he reached the corner. If he continued around he would eventually reach downtown Riverside and the bus station, but he stopped at the corner, waiting for his mysterious contacts. He recognized their silver 2540 Automatic Sunbelt when it drove up to the corner he was waiting on and pulled over. The back doors popped open and two men climbed out. The older man wore a black suit and was middle-aged with slightly graying hair. The other one was more casually dressed, obviously the older man's bodyguard, and looked to be in his thirties. He had a large magnum holstered under his shoulder and didn't look afraid to use it.

Collins utterly despised the likes of them, and they knew it, but they didn't show it on their faces. The suited man was a very dangerous person; Collins didn't dare trifle with him.

"Ah, Mr. Collins, how did your little chat with Mister…Ambrose…go?" the man in the suit asked the journalist in honeyed tones.

"You tell me; you were listening in the entire time," Collins answered icily, twisting the bugged wire out of his ear and tossing it to the suited man's bodyguard.

The man in the suit smiled lightly, a cold smile that did not reach his eyes. "In that regard, I would say that we unearthed some very delicious pieces of information. The child of Alexander-G004 and Samantha-G113 has indeed inherited his parents' augmentations. That is the cornerstone of our entire operation. You have our most _sincere_ thanks for cooperating with us."

"I hardly think having your man break into my home in the middle of the night and pressing a gun to my forehead, threatening to shoot me if I didn't do this, qualifies as cooperation," Collins snorted with disgust, longing to snap the other man's neck. It would be so easy…just a firm grip on the side of the head and the neck and then let torque do the rest…the only problem was the bodyguard, who looked as if he could flatten the journalist by simply looking at him.

The man in the suit let a small sigh escape through his lips. "Oh come now, Mr. Collins, don't be so sour. Your reconnaissance had proven to be invaluable; we now are certain that the child is augmented. You get to write your documentary-book and we get to take the Ambroses' son. Everyone wins."

"Except the kid and his family…" Collins murmured.

"All struggles have collateral damage," the man in the suit shrugged, "Change requires sacrifice. So does freedom. The _end_, Mr. Collins, justifies the means. You have done your part, so cease your worrying. I will be transferring your three hundred-thousand credits to your account in the morning—"

"No," Collins shook his head, "Keep your money, I can do without it."

"Very well," the man in the suit didn't sound too upset at the prospect of keeping his money, "Your job is finished, then. The United Rebel Front thanks you for your services," the man nodded to Collins as he climbed back into the silver car, which turned around and drove off, vanishing.

Collins was left with a vile taste in his mouth. "_Insurrectionists_…" he spat the word like a curse. He shook his head and cleared away the feelings of guilt which were already starting to cloud his mind and continued on his way towards the Riverside Bus Station.

* * *

**_THE END_**

_Thank you readers for staying wit me this long; it's been an adventure. I'm formulating ideas for a sequel, but it's going to take a little brainstorming!_

_Thank you all again! -TheAmateur_


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